The Recovery (Five Nights At Freddy's)
by xXLoveThatAccentXx
Summary: Mike was usually quite active on worknights. Now he seems so... dead. Depression is a big word, with an even bigger meaning. After the animatronics get the hint that Mike isn't fighting back, they decide to take a different approach. Little did the mourning night guard know that he wasn't alone in this heart-wrenching battle... in more ways than one. (Human!Animatronics)
1. PART ONE

_"I don't want to be alone, I want to be left alone."_

~Audrey Hepburn


	2. Guilt

It was the middle of the night and the camera still wasn't on.

Chica's frown deepened. It was all the more fun when the atmosphere was tense; why hadn't Mike turned on the camera yet? Was the power out already? Couldn't be; it was barely one thirty.

 _Maybe he's already been caught?_ Chica thought, but that wasn't possible; everyone was gathered in the stage area as of now and not a drop of blood was to be seen. Freddy was looking in confusion at Bonnie, who shrugged. Foxy peered out of Pirate's Cove, as if questioning what was taking the night guard so long. Chica sighed and shook her head.

"I'm going to go see what's going on." Freddy finally informed the others. "You guys stay here in case the camera turns on."

The robots nodded their heads in sync, and Freddy started off down the hall.

* * *

Freddy played his music halfway down the hall to give Mike a warning, just in case Mike was playing tricks on them. However, no doors slammed shut. No lights flicked on. Everything was quiet.

Freddy leaned his head through the door, blinking. What he saw confused him even further.

Mike the night guard was sitting in his chair, pulled close up to the desk, his head buried in his arms, his longer black hair covering his face. There was no light whatsoever save the lit up screen of an ipod that wasn't even playing music. At first Freddy thought Mike was sleeping on the job, but that's when he saw Mike wasn't relaxed; he was shaking. It looked so familiar an action... Where did Freddy see this before...?

A hitched breath escaped Mike. Another one. He went quiet again. That's when Freddy remembered.

Crying. Mike was crying.

Freddy crept closer, curious. He peeked at the screen saver of the ipod. On the screen was a tan girl around Mike's age; seventeen, eighteen years. She had brown hair and green eyes and overall looked pretty good. Freddy wondered why Mike had some girl as a screen saver. Why not himself, or his family, or a pet or something? That was weird.

Freddy reached out tentatively with a mechanical finger and tapped Mike on the shoulder. Mike stiffened, but he didn't turn.

"Just kill me." Mike whispered.

Freddy blinked again. Mike wanted to die? That was weird, yesterday he didn't. What made him change his mind?

"Well, before you die, I've got a few questions," Freddy requested. Mike didn't move. There was no way Mike couldn't have heard him, so Freddy continued. "First of all, why are you so sad? It's making me uncomfortable. I don't like to see people cry."

"Why do you care? No one cares about me." Mike seemed so sure as he said this.

"That's not true. You have a family, don't you? They care." Freddy said this as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"No. I don't have a family. I live by myself. It-it's better that way."

"That's weird." Freddy said bluntly. Freddy had never experienced being by himself. Of course there were times when he was not _with_ his friends, but they were always just a hallway away. It must've been lonely for Mike.

Freddy tapped his shoulder again. "Why do you want to die?"

Mike's head shot up and he whirled around in his swivel chair, glaring up at a shocked Freddy. His cheeks were wet and his eyes were red. But it wasn't what was around his eyes that captivated Freddy the most; it was what was _in_ them. Mike's eyes had no glow, no expression. They were just... dead.

"I just told you!" Mike yelled angrily. " _Because no one cares_! Everyone has always hated me! I hate myself. So if you're going to kill me, then get on with it already!"

Freddy was about to carry out just that, but that was when this sheer guilt weighed on his chest that he never felt before. He hesitated. Something wasn't right about this situation. Something was horribly wrong.

"Mike-" Freddy began, but was cut off harshly by Mike standing up and grabbing his ipod off the counter, glaring at the screen with a mixture of emotions.

"Hear that, Amy? I'm dying. Good riddance, huh?" He seethed coldly, throwing the device at the wall with all his might. The ipod cracked into a spiderweb of broken glass as it flipped violently, shattered, to the ground. The room was thrown into absolute black. " _Good riddance_!"

Freddy quickly switched to night vision to keep an eye on a now active Mike. Mike sat down again and buried his face in his hands. His voice was shrill. " _Stupid Amy! Stupid me! Stupid everything!_ I hate you, Freddy, and I hate Bonnie and Chica and Foxy and stupid Golden Freddy and-"

"Mike!" Freddy yelled, quickly kneeling next to him and taking his shoulders in his hands. Mike stopped babbling and looked at Freddy in defeat. Freddy sighed.

"Tell me everything."


	3. Reasons

Bonnie slunk down the right hallway, quietly. He hadn't heard from Freddy in over an hour and curiosity was beginning to nag at him. It didn't take that long to stuff someone in a suit...

Just outside the door, Bonnie paused. It was completely dark in the office, with only the red light from the old telephone to pierce the black. Usually Mike had the lamp on or the main light. Did he think he could conserve power better that way? If that was the case then Mike was pretty dumb... Nevertheless, Bonnie had night vision, so he switched to that.

He couldn't believe his eyes.

Mike was hunched in his swivel chair, sobbing into his hands. Freddy knelt next to him, seemingly trying to comfort him. It was daylight hours all over again- find a lost kid, comfort him, help him find his mommy. But _Freddy_ , of all of them, doing the same to their _security guard_ was really curious. Bonnie stepped inside the office and lifted his hands in confusion. Freddy saw him and gave him a sad look, which wasn't like Freddy at all.

"What's going on, Freddy?" Bonnie looked from Mike to his friend, back and forth. "Why isn't he dead yet?"

"You know... I've been wondering the... the same thing..." Mike's quiet voice came. It was so dull that Bonnie couldn't tell what expression was within it.

"Bonnie." Freddy gave him a disappointed look, which confused Bonnie even further. Freddy only used that tone when Bonnie was fighting with Chica or Foxy. Freddy murmured something to Mike before standing up and pulling Bonnie out into the hallway.

"Bonnie." That look again.

Bonnie lifted his hands. "What did I do?"

"Don't you recognize the situation? I've seen it before. It's not too pretty. We're going to have to take matters into our hands."

"Kill him?"

"Bonnie!" Freddy was frustrated. "No! We _can't_ kill him. It's not right. Look, Mike's got this thing called _'depression'_ and he has it bad. It was triggered when his girlfriend Amy harshly broke up with him. Who knows what Mike will do to himself?"

"And we care... why?" Bonnie still didn't understand why this was such a bad thing.

Freddy looked Bonnie square in the eyes, making Bonnie shift uncomfortably. He knew what this look was.

"Because once we were just like him. Our very lives were taken away - similar to what he's feeling right now. Do you remember that? The first nights here? What measures we took? We're already dead. But we can help him; we can find a way to help him recover."

Bonnie looked back into the office. Already he could see himself in that office chair instead of Mike, trying to reassure himself but only really making it worse. Freddy was right. It was help he needed, not a suit.

Bonnie sighed. "Okay. So, what next?"

"Stay here with Mike. I'm going to explain to the others. It's simple; make sure he stays in the office and _please_ keep him away from the sharp objects!"

* * *

The minute Chica learned of Mike's situation, her eyes widened and she ran off towards the office. Foxy just stood there, trying to comprehend it.

"So... the lad had a breakdown?" Foxy questioned slowly. That was new. He'd only ever seen dramas with that sort of information on their lousy cable TV on the wall. Even then, it didn't seem quite accurate.

Freddy nodded. "I can relate to some things he's going through and I'm sure you can too. Even if we can't relate to other things, we still have to try."

"Indeed."

Together they walked down the hall and peered into the office. Chica was holding Mike in a tight embrace, while he just hung limp, his head on her shoulder. Bonnie looked relieved to see Freddy, backed in the corner and holding Mike's broken ipod high up into the air.

"He tried to get to the glass." Bonnie explained flatly.


	4. Truth

Mike always knew his life was screwed up.

His parents sucked- They neglected him and treated him horribly, damaging him to the point where he could no longer confide - so _they_ , the strange uniformed people, put him in foster homes at six years of age. He lived with three different foster families, each one sending him back because of frequent, violent mood swings and fights with their own children. Their attitude damaged Mike's mental state more and more. When he was eight years old, he finally just ran away.

The uniformed people found him of course, and this time they took him to an academy for boys. The other boys at the school avoided him, though, because of his intimidating aura and rebellious attitude. He would talk back to the teachers and not do any work, and was sent to detention ninety-five percent of the time. He hated the school and everyone in it, and he believed everyone hated him back. Late one night, two years later, he ran away from that, too.

This time, when they found him, they took him to juvenile detention. It was more of a hospital, really. The ladies that would try to talk to him- were they psychiatrists?- reminded him of his mother no matter how different they really looked or acted; one would have her eyes, one would have her hair, one would have her stance. Whenever Mike saw the resemblance he would get anxiety and back into the corner of the room. He wouldn't talk to them at all. Sooner than later his imaginary friends were less friends than terrifying voices in his head that would continue to torment him, reminding him of everything negative he'd ever known about himself. This lead him out of _bipolar_ and into _depression_. One time he actually attempted to listen to a psychiatrist, but everything she said sounded hollow, as if she wasn't actually trying to understand him, only trying to sugarcoat the truth. This was added to the list of things the voices told him.

When the violent behavior finally subsided to defeat, they put him back into foster care. He finished school in less rebellion and more silence.

He was more than grateful to turn eighteen and finally get to live on his own, but bad luck still clung to him and it turned out just plain miserable. He could only afford to live in the ghettos - his school grades were terrible so he couldn't get a good job - and more than once he'd been pinned up against the wall, robbed of anything valuable that happened to be in his jacket pockets. If there wasn't anything, they would get frustrated and hurt him and call him things that gave a lot more damage than they could have realized. Sometimes he'd come home so stressed he'd break something, and sometimes, with those shards... the point was, he was alone, he was faking a smile, he battled the little voices in his head, and nothing even seemed worth the effort.

He went looking for another job, coming across Freddy's by sheer coincidence when burning newspapers in the fireplace and happening to see the ad. The pay was okay and would cover a rare electric bill, and it could be a good distraction for him. Little did he know how horrible that job would be- even the stupid _robots_ wanted him out of their life! But it _was_ quite a distraction, not to mention life-threatening; maybe that was why he even stayed. It made him feel sickeningly good to put his sucky life on the line, to see where the gamble would take him.

And then he met her. Amy Still, who'd been watching her niece play around in the pizzeria's arcade and happened to still be there when Mike arrived for his shift. They talked for a bit, and that alone gave Mike enough energy to get through his fourth night on the job. She came every day since then, around eleven, to talk to Mike before work and finally, he worked up the courage to ask her out. It surprised him when she accepted. For five or six weeks, he was happy. It felt like years. He took Sundays and Saturdays off from Freddy's to spend the whole twenty four hours with his new girlfriend. Then _it_ happened... and it was all taken away.

She was worth the pain.

She was worth every freaking second of it... or so he told himself.

He couldn't stop thinking about it... Couldn't stop thinking about what he'd done wrong... What he'd done to make her leave...

It was the afternoon when she called him. Apparently she couldn't handle saying it to his face. Or she knew _he_ couldn't handle it. He never did tell her how bad his depression really was, just that he had it. Maybe she forgot. She resorted to yelling when he kept asking 'why'; and he added _annoying_ to his list of flaws. He tried to tell himself that break-ups were part of life but it still hurt. Like someone had reached into his chest and ripped out his heart, holding it above their head so he couldn't get it back. And it hurt. Not just the break-up but _everything_. His past was recolored, and this mixed with the recent events made a hurricane of glass shards and fire so painful he couldn't think straight. It tormented him to the point he couldn't sleep and when he did, he had nightmares- horrible, horrible nightmares.

He wanted the pain to stop.

He wanted it gone.

It wouldn't leave.

When eleven o' clock rolled around, he considered calling in sick, so people could go by that alibi when he never showed up. He had a different plan of course- he had scissors in the kitchen drawer. But when his boss called _him_ instead, to announce some changes in the schedule and some other unimportant features, Mike realized something. The robots at Freddy's attempted to kill him _every night_. He didn't even have to do the dirty work- they could do it for him. All he had to do was sit and wait, didn't even have to turn on the power. All the time passed, waiting for work, he placed different bets on who would get to him first. In the end, he bet on Bonnie.

When he reached the office, he sat down in the dark, not even touching the lights. He leaned against the desk in his chair and pulled out his ipod to listen to music before... before it happened. He scrolled through the playlists but every song reminded him of Amy. _Every. Single. Song_. Set It Off, Get Scared, The Used, all skipped, left with the cheesy music she herself had downloaded on his ipod. No way in heck was he listening to that.

Finally, he unplugged the earbuds and stuffed them in his pocket, leaving the ipod on the table, at the screen saver, her picture. It was all her fault. Why did he still love her?

It hurt.

He hurt.

He wanted it to stop.

When Freddy's stupid music played, he was reminded of his bet. _Guess I was wrong after all. Wouldn't be the first time._

And for death, he waited.


	5. Help

Freddy's was made for the enjoyment of children. Parents could leave their children with no worries at all in the careful hands of the vigilant employees, handing out pizza and guiding them to the show stage, where Freddy and his friends would entertain them nonstop. Employees were trusted to help the kids in any way and even the robots were no different; each robot had a certain talent in handling certain situations.

Freddy had responsibility. Every few minutes, when he wasn't busy, he checked around to ensure everyone was still accounted for and happy. He was even programmed to count them- make sure none of them got lost. If a child was lost or couldn't find his family, he was programmed to reassure the child and find an employee. If the child was in a fight, he could separate it. If the child was hurt or throwing a tantrum, screw the employees and grab the robot specialized in that field. Such as Bonnie.

Bonnie had enough medical knowledge to pass two years of college. Freddy checked around the pizzeria and if any child was hurt he'd immediately inform Bonnie, who always knew exactly what to do and could do it right. After helping the kid any way he could, if the situation was still dire, he could automatically call an ambulance by radio. But Bonnie was so good he never needed it.

Chica had a gift for calming a child down. With a database on psychological distress, she knew very well how to get into a child's head and understand him enough to help him relax. If Freddy saw a child in terror or throwing a tantrum, he'd immediately fetch Chica, who would calmly approach and talk to him, cheering him up in mere minutes. Chica had an almost motherly air about her, which was most of the reason why children more readily trusted her than the other robots.

Last was Foxy, who was actually quite smart. If the boss needed to know every detail of an event that occurred, he went to Foxy before any other animatronic or employee. Foxy had a perfect memory and, to ensure he never forgot anything, he had a little recording camera installed in his eyes. He would get the names of every person, child and adult in the building and correctly identify them no matter how large the crowd was, or how random. Foxy's memory is allowed to last up to three months before the older, unimportant information automatically deletes.

These talents were installed in the well-loved robots for the benefit of children. However, since 'the incident', the changed animatronics' secret search of a culprit lead them to use their talents for just the opposite effect on some choice people.

Freddy was protective, Bonnie was scientific, Chica could get into your head, and Foxy was aware. These were a terrible mix for robots that came after you every night, intent on murdering you.

But Mike never imagined they'd be such a perfect mix to save him.

At least for tonight.

Mike had come to work willing, expecting, and even hoping to die, delved deep into his dark thoughts on Amy's rejection and his all around bad luck. Now he was trying to take the word of a chicken-themed robot that was attempting to reassure him the pain would pass, and trying to push 'death' into a category of things he didn't want. But it was like standing half in and half out of blazing hot sunlight and freezing cold shade. He wasn't sure what he wanted; each had its own tempting benefits and terrifying consequences.

"You live alone?" Chica asked him curiously. Mike looked away, suddenly interested in a piece of carpet. He suspected Chica had never experienced true loneliness, or at least, hadn't for a very long time. He didn't know how to describe it. It was horrid, especially with his depression. Before, he never would have said anything about that. Now, at his limit, he just spilled everything.

"Mm hmm. My parents suck and I don't have any siblings. I didn't have any friends in school because no one liked to talk to me. The only place I travel is to this stupid pizzeria... So I'm home a lot..."

Chica opened her mouth as if to say something, probably about them being his friends, but she stopped herself. From last month up until about twenty minutes ago, she'd been trying to kill him.

Mike's eyes flicked back to her, barely moving his head. "So what now? You saw my 'dark side'. What are you going to do about it? You can't cure it because I've tried that. You can't lock it away because I tried that. It just keeps coming back. The most you could do for me is just end it all."

"I'm not going to do that." Chica told him firmly. She might've wanted to kill him yesterday, but that was when she didn't know anything. Now he seemed less of a suspect and more of a child. And heaven knew Chica couldn't hurt children. "Look, you have to believe me when I say I know what you're going through. Just let me help."

Mike scoffed but said nothing more.

Chica threw a helpless glance at the windows of the office, where Freddy and Bonnie and Foxy were peeking in, spying. They shrugged and gestured for her to keep trying, but how could she do that? It helped when her patient was younger, more naïve. Then Chica wondered if Mike had _ever_ been that.

There had to be some way to get his mind off of Amy.


	6. Distraction

He looked up at the sign, taking in its flamboyant theme and color. He'd only ever seen it in shadow, never caring to visit the dreaded place during the day; yet here it was, and here he was. Chica had stayed with him in the office until six, and when he left, feeling a little better, Chica told him to come back during the day if he was still feeling bad, telling him that the crowd of children would be a good distraction from the pain.

He didn't know why he took her word for it. But it was too late to turn back now. He felt he owed it to himself, to Chica- a short relief. Maybe it really would work.

He pocketed his truck keys and stepped out onto the tar-stained pavement. His boss might be surprised to see him. He was supposed to be resting for his next shift. But why should he be concerned about that anyway? He was just too tired to care anymore.

He slipped out of the hot sun into the cool, well-conditioned pizzeria. Inside was well-lit and full of noise, more voices than Mike had ever heard in one place since the academy for boys. Thinking about that put a sour taste in his mouth and he looked to the stage to see the robots perform for the first time.

They looked so different from the creatures they became in the silence of night; Freddy looked friendly and fun and Bonnie seemed trustworthy, Chica had the air of a gentle sister and Foxy was quite comical. It was so strange to see them in the sunlight, twirling around and laughing with the crowd of kids at the stage's base. Mike kept in the shadows, suddenly not wanting the animatronics to discover his presence.

Freddy and Chica held a high note together before breaking down into staged giggles and Freddy recited. "Okey dokey kids! Break time!"

"Are you hungry for pizza? Let's eat!" Chica crowed.

"We'll be back shortly," Promised Bonnie.

The kids disbanded and flocked to their guardians, awaiting their snacks excitedly. The robots retired backstage and Mike couldn't hold back a tiny smile. They were pretty friendly when he wasn't around to see them.

"Hey, Miles!"

Mike looked up in confusion to see a somewhat familiar face standing in front of him, seemingly shocked to see him. He was an employee with brown hair and eyes and sported funky round glasses. "It's a surprise to see you here!" He continued, as if the two were great friends. He flopped down in the seat next to him and crossed his legs, his expression falling just a bit. "Hey... I heard what happened between you and... you know. Thought I'd tell you how sorry I am. But there are more fish in the sea; you'll find someone else."

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Mike tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. "And I really don't want to talk about that."

"Oh! Do you seriously not remember me? Then again, I guess the night watchman has enough to stress about instead of remembering some random people, eh? I'm Scott!" The guy picked up Mike's limp hand and shook it, unfazed by Mike's dull tone. "Scott Cawthon. Used to work in that office before you, you know. Might've heard my messages on the answering machine. It's gotten me the nickname of "Phone Guy" with the other employees. Kinda annoying, actually, don't call me that. Anyway, you haven't been keeping in touch with us at all, Miles, where've you been?"

"It's _Mike_. And I really prefer to be by myself." Mike didn't remember a time when someone actually tried to strike a conversation with him-other than Amy, and the creepy people sitting on the curb in the middle of the night from his neighborhood. It was actually kind of nice, but at the same time, it pushed at his comfort zone and he wanted it to stop.

"Ah, right. Well, it's great to see you here, you know!"

"...Really?"

"Mm hmm. Look a little down, though. Want something to eat? I'm starving. Employees eat free ya know."

"...No thanks."

"Mmkay, then. Well, I gotta go check up on the kids in Pirate's Cove. Foxy get's a little twitchy now and again. I'm sure you've had more than enough encounters with him to know how he can get. Bye!" Scott pushed himself to his feet and jogged across the room to join the kids in Pirate's cove. Foxy was cracking his neck and looking a bit overwhelmed, and Mike could sympathize.

Suddenly, he heard a sniffle behind him. Mike turned around in surprise to see a lonely figure standing in the doorway to the girl's bathroom, visible through the doorway of its corresponding hallway. Mike's table happened to be right near that doorway.

The lone figure in the doorway was a little girl around six or seven years old, with brown pigtails and pretty green eyes. She wore an old-fashioned party gown and ruffled white socks to go with her purple shoes. It certainly wasn't modern, but Mike wasn't one to judge on that-he wasn't exactly up on trends either.

The girl looked sad. Not in any way Mike had seen a sad child before, though; it as less 'I can't find my mommy' and more 'I'm better off being alone'. He didn't know why a sweet girl so young would be wearing such a painful expression but there was one thing he did know; Mike knew that expression all too well. He knew the reaction he should give.

He said nothing to the sad child, but he gave her a smile. A truly sympathetic smile. _I know._

She seemed surprised, but she managed to return the smile-a wobbly smile, as if she were about to cry. Any normal teenager would be freaking out, wondering what to do with a crying child, but Mike wasn't that normal teenager. He continued to sit, comforting her from a distance, telling her without words that he understood.

There was a clatter from the stage area and Mike broke eye contact with the girl to see Freddy and his friends coming back to sing again, chipper as ever. They called out some cheerful phrases and began their next song. Mike took his gaze back to the girl's bathroom doorway, to see the girl's reaction.

But the girl was gone.


	7. PART TWO

_"Hard times will always reveal true friends."_

~Unknown


	8. Confusion

If there was ever one thing Mike could look forward to in his sucky, daily routines, it was lunchtime.

Just a couple blocks away from his neighborhood, further into the city, was a Harvard college. Mike couldn't attend the college, of course-it was simply not an option, as his grades were crap and his social personality was nonexistent-but since the community was piteous and one of the psychiatrists from his old hospital worked in one of the school's restaurants, he was allowed free meals. Mike loathed pity, but he couldn't pass up a deal like that.

He always slept through breakfast and skipped dinner, so lunch was the only meal of the day, really. He tended to make it count and get his childhood preference; Arby's. He got it so often that the cooks would prepare his usual order ten minutes before twelve, which was the time when he usually showed up.

Today was no different from any other day; he picked up the food with a monotone thanks, sat in his usual spot in the corner of the college's massive pavilion, and ate in silence. Mostly, it was like any other day. The only thing that stood out was the person he'd never seen before on the bench parallel from his own. The guy with the gloves.

It was July. It was _hot_. There was no logical explanation as to why the Harvard student was wearing black gloves. They weren't the winter kind, really; they were more like those fancy princess gloves Queen Elsa from Frozen wore. Thin. Simple. As if he wasn't protecting his hands, just hiding them.

Frankly, it made him curious. Not like he was keen on actually talking to him, though, so he stayed where he was, occasionally casting a glance to the student once in a while.

He was a little short and a little pasty, blonde with glazed green eyes and a cap advertising a TV show Mike hadn't seen. He wore long black jeans and a long sleeved shirt despite the heat-green, also advertising, this time a band. He was unhealthily scrawny. A small sketchpad rested on his lap, and he drew something Mike couldn't see while sipping from a can of Sprite. First impression would be that he was a shady guy in bright attire, as if trying to fool people into believing he was approachable. It was pretty obvious he was just a weirdo. But Mike wasn't one to talk.

Mike studied the guy for a bit, watching his wrist slide across the paper, guiding the pencil. As he watched, two more students came up to the guy, leaning over his sketchpad.

"Whatcha drawin', nerd?" One of the boys smirked. The gloved guy tried to hide his paper, but the second boy snatched the pad out of his hand and held it aloft, scanning the picture. "What _is_ that? Got some crazy emo features in here, creepy. Who is this-your _girlfriend_?"

"Please give it back." The gloved guy pleaded, standing up and reaching for it. He was too short, though, and when the boys held it high above his head, there was definitely no way he'd be getting it back. The student kept trying though. "Please. That's my favorite sketchpad. My brother gave it to me."

"Naw, we all know you're a mommy's boy, nerd." The first bully cackled, shoving the little guy back onto the bench and spilling the can of soda. "You're too girly for anyone _else_ to like you."

The gloved guy was silent for a second. He was clenching his jaw. "What do you want from me, _now_?"

"Want you to sneak the keys for the _place_ again." The second bully grinned darkly. "You know the place. We don't get the key, you don't get mommy's present."

"It's my brother's."

"Keys, Fitzgerald."

"F-Fine." The little gloved guy replaced the tipped can on the bench and picked himself up, standing at just above five feet. He turned and began to walk away, as if to leave the campus. Mike watched as the little guy left, his figure getting smaller in the distance, crossing the road and slipping into a nearby music store. When he turned back to the bullies, he looked back on them with a growing anger. He'd never been in that Fitzgerald kid's position before-Mike had been a kid to get into fights not try to avoid them-but he sure as heck couldn't just let these cocky students get away with that.

The boys were bigger than Mike; not exactly muscly and fit, but more of taller and bigger boned. that didn't phase Mike, though. Mike was harassed by huge tattooed thugs in his own neighborhood every day. What were a couple of Harvard students? _Pitiful_.

He stood up.

That was when the gloved guy exited the store. Mike turned to watch him hurry back across the street, narrowly missing a few careless honking cars, scurrying across the school's huge lawn and finally inching back to the boys, meekly bowing his head and gingerly holding out a ring of three keys.

"Here you go," He mumbled, the silver keyring dangling from his gloved fingers. The bullies snatched it out of his hands before shoving him back onto the bench. They laughed haughtily and dropped the pad into a bookbag of their own. The Fitzgerald guy's eyes widened. "W-what are you doing?! You said you'd give it back!"

"We never said that, dummy." The first bully laughed. "Your art may be freakin' creepy, but it'll impress some of the artsy-type girls. Don't worry, we'll take _great_ care of it."

That's when Mike punched him in the nose.

The bully cried out in pain and surprise, stumbling back. The second bully looked on with wide eyes as Mike advanced again, shoving the guy with all his might and felling him. It's been a long time since Mike had gotten into a real fistfight, but the red-hot anger from their mocking that student _really_ ticked him off.

The second bully grabbed him by his shirt collar, bringing back his fist. "Tryna play hero, huh? Who the heck do you think you are?!"

Mike kicked him in the abdomen before he could throw the punch. The guy doubled over and Mike kicked him over. Geez, these guys were weak.

Then they both ganged on him.

The first bully threw a punch at Mike's face, but he turned in enough time for it to catch his shoulder instead. Mike blocked the next one, but it left him vulnerable and the second bully caught both his arms and threw them behind his back. The first bully then proceed to kick _him_ in the stomach.

By now a crowd had formed, a thick circle of shocked college students with an eight feet radius on all sides of the fighting boys. Standing just a few feet away from them was the Fitzgerald guy, his gloved hands covering his mouth as he watched. In his eyes, Mike saw a flash of amazement, as if no one had ever thought to stand up for him before, and no one ever would. According to the looks of surprise on the audience, apparently no one else thought so either.

That made Mike feel weird. All while growing up, Mike only ever thought of himself. Fighting for only himself because he was the only one who needed to be protected. Now, he was getting beat up over a kid who probably didn't even deserve to be defended. For some reason, that made him feel kind of good.

Mike shook his head to clear it, ignoring the pain. It wasn't near as agonizing as the scars the thugs in the alleyway gave to him-it was easily forgotten. Mike bit the restraining bully's hand-hard-and he let him free with a cry of pain. He sprung at the first bully. The big student actually retreated a few steps, but the distance was easily closed and Mike brought him down.

The second bully tried to aid his comrade but Mike lashed out at him and he stumbled backwards. These obviously weren't the kind of guys that got into fights very often. If they had thought they were big and tough, they didn't now. From the look in their eyes, Mike scared them.

And that's when the professors interfered.


	9. Kindness

"We give you rare privileges and yet you act like an animal."

"Yep."

"We offered you kindness and you respond with this behavior."

"What was I _supposed_ to do?!" Mike yelled loudly to the Harvard professor. The students surrounding the four boys-the two bullies, the Fitzgerald guy, and Mike-looked on, waiting for something dramatic to happen. Mike wasn't paying attention to anyone but the old man in front of him, though. "You know _very well_ how I react to this behavior! You can't sit there and lecture _me_ about behaving like an animal when _these_ stupid creatures were hurting this poor guy! That student did _nothing_ to aggravate them, and they treat him like _dirt_. So yeah, I put them in their place. If you expect better behavior from me, _I_ expect better behavior from your students."

"Michael Schmidt!" A female professor barked.

"That's my name!" Mike yelled back at her.

"I don't want you putting another step on campus." The old professor ordered.

"All the better! I don't want to look at those two jerks." Mike shot a glare at the bullies and they cringed, massaging their bruises and breaks. Mike then directed the look to the Fitzgerald guy, who was standing just behind him, eyes wide, as if he didn't know what to say.

"They bother you again, let me know."

The guy nodded slightly. He looked suspicious and relieved at the same time. "O-okay."

Mike stormed off campus, mourning the only place he'd ever looked forward to.

* * *

Mike kicked the dresser when he walked into his apartment. The glass cup that was standing upon it toppled and fell to the ground with a loud shatter. He didn't even flinch; Wouldn't be the first time he replaced that cup. But it wasn't rue that caused his actions this time; it was frustration.

Now where was he going to get food? He couldn't exactly ask the neighbors for cup of sugar when he wanted it; instead he'd get a beating or some other form of unpleasant harassment. He was kicked off the campus and he couldn't afford a grocery list... Mike bit back a shout of stress, trying not to think about how much worse his life was sucking. How on earth could someone's life suck so much?

 _Because it's mine._

At least that Fitzgerald guy knew that Mike was on his side. For now. If this all turned out against his favor he himself would beat that kid up. He just cost Mike his food for the rest of the year.

He stumbled into his closet of a room and flopped onto his bed. It was the middle of the afternoon, but his apartment didn't have windows so it wasn't as if sunlight would keep him awake anyway. His stress and that fight wore him out.

He stared at the wall of the dark room, trying to clear his mind, but if there was anything Mike was bad at above everything else, it was forgetting.

* * *

He returned to Freddy's at twelve on the dot, not keen on conversing with other employees. Everyone was gone when he arrived; it was one of the first nights he showed up at the restaurant without Amy still there to talk to him. Thinking about her made his heart hurt.

He turned on the light and nearly jumped out of his skin seeing Freddy almost two inches away from him.

"Hi, Mike!" He greeted. "Didn't think you'd come to work!"

Mike wasn't in the mood for Freddy's excitement. He pushed Freddy back a few paces, muttering something about personal space. "How else am I going to get paid?"

"Guess you're right." Freddy shrugged. This was also the first night Freddy wasn't stalking him constantly, trying to murder him. The sudden change was just plain weird. Mike didn't think it was just his depression that was stopping them from tearing him apart; However, he said nothing about this concern. After all, he wasn't complaining.

"What do you guys do for fun around here?" Mike asked, scanning the dull interior of the closed pizzeria. Without people to run the place, there really wasn't much to do. Mike pointed this out to Freddy, and was surprised by the sly look on his face.

"But you forget," He giggled. "We _do_ run the place. Up for some arcade games?"

* * *

While participating in a Pac-Man contest against Bonnie, Mike told Chica what had happened at the Harvard College. It wasn't as if he wanted to tell her in the first place, but Chica had this way of getting what she wanted when she wanted it. She listened intently when he explained his emotions and the outcome of his actions.

"Getting easily aggravated is normal for depression, but it does serve as a problem," Chica agreed. "The best you can do is apologize to that professor, but I understand if you're not willing to return. Just remember that employees eat free here. There's one problem solved."

"Great. Thanks for that; I wouldn't have been able to afford anything else."

"As for that guy you defended? There's not one person in the world who doesn't deserve to be protected. You did the right thing."

"Thanks." Mike replied. Deep down, that didn't feel entirely true. Not in the student's case, but his own. He hid this thought behind a smile to Chica in the hopes she wouldn't bring it up again. She didn't. Instead, she brought up something worse.

"How about Amy? Have you had any contact with her since, well, _it_ happened?"

"No. Definitely not."

"It wouldn't be the best idea to avoid her the rest of your life, you know. The best way to heal is to understand the person who hurt you. Some time and distance from her might help with the pain but you can't stay away from her forever."

"Yes I can."

"Mike..." She sighed, but said nothing more.


	10. Popularity

Five days passed since Mike ditched the college. So far, showing up to Freddy's for lunch instead of Harvard was a lot more interesting; for one, it was pizza, then the robots were pretty friendly to him, then he got to watch all these cute and sometimes annoying little kids sprint around and cause havoc to the dead and lonely place he visited during the night. To be honest, it was quite entertaining.

While he watched Bonnie picking on his red guitar, humming along to the nursery rhyme in spite of himself, someone caught his shoulder. He looked up to see his boss's smiling face looking down at him.

"Hey, Miles!"

"It's _Mike_."

"Just thought I'd come and talk to you concerning the animatronics."

Mike felt a wave of confusion. Why would the boss want to talk to him about the robots? What did the boss know? "Huh?"

The boss pulled up a chair and flopped next to him, despite his old age, and grinned at Mike. "Yeah! They're so much more _human_ , you know? I don't know what you've been doing to them, but since we hired you our robots are much more appealing!"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, you see, something happened in '87. You know about it; the 'Bite of '87'. Ever since '87, the robots have gotten kinda... weird. They never sang in as happy a tone, there were song repeats; Foxy would glitch up more than usual. Almost as if they could sense the tension. Then you get the job and..." He made a popping sound with his mouth. "Just like that. Chipper as ever! It's amazing. You know, you're never here to hear it, but the other employees started calling you the _robot whisperer_. Funny, huh?"

Mike didn't know what to say. The robots were happy now... because of him? He would've gotten all choked up if he wasn't trying to be tough.

The boss continued, this time in a more interesting tone of voice. "Might be wondering why I'm telling you this. Well, truth is, my cousin's been having some troubles over at the sister location; troubles concerning their own animatronics. Been giving their own night watchman a boatload of stress. I came to ask you today if you'd be interested in jumping to the town over and givin' 'em a hand?"

"Ah, I'm not sure that's a good-"

"Splendid! You'll only need to stay one night up there; the night you'll be helping their guard. Won't be too much trouble. Should warn you, though; they're a bit feisty, the robots, and instead of four, there happens to be _twelve_ of them. Don't worry, though, you'll be absolutely fine. Just do what you did to our robots and we'll have cleared their mess right up!"

"But sir, I don't-"

"Gah! Is it really one already?" The boss cried, gawking at his silver digital watch. "We've got a birthday party to prepare! Thank you so much for your help, Miles. I promise you'll get a ten percent increase on your pay."

Mike was about to complain about several other things, but he quickly shut his mouth when he heard he'd get a raise. The boss scurried away.

Mike turned to look out the window, resting his chin on his folded arms. How did he get caught up into that? He didn't do anything to the robots; they changed on their own accord. He'd most certainly be killed in a pizzeria hosting twelve crazy robots; especially if they were as crazy as Freddy and Bonnie and Chica and Foxy used to be. Then again, their night guard managed to survive for a while, and if he could do it, then Mike could.

Speaking of the sister location's night guard, what on earth would he be like? Twelve robots; he had to be this big tough guy. Probably he'd have a lot of strength and wit. Probably he'd be super fast and really awesome. Probably he was Mike's better in every way.

Just thinking about it, Mike became curious and nervous about meeting that guy. He probably wouldn't even have to help the guy at all. He'd probably make fun of Mike and give him all the pathetic jobs.

"Nah," Mike tried to assure himself. "He'll be cool. Don't worry about it."

He had less to worry about than he thought.


	11. Familiarity

It was nine o' clock at night, on the day Mike left for the town over.

Freddy, Chica, and Bonnie were all fussing and stressing over him. This caused Mike himself to start freaking out, and all there was left to calm them down was Foxy, who seemed to have trouble doing that.

"Listen, lad!" Foxy groaned, shaking his shoulders. " _It just a couple o' toys_. Prolly can't even hurt ye. One watchlad 'gainst twelve robots? He survivin' that long, they must not be so bad. Trust me, Mikey; they be _pitiful_."

Mike swallowed and nodded. "I'll take your word for it."

"Be careful, Mike!" Chica warned, hugging him.

"Make sure not to aggravate the bunnies, if there be any." Bonnie supplied. "The bunnies are the worst."

"And be sure to show off and teach him any techniques he doesn't know. That way the respect will be distributed _evenly_ ; you for his _strength_ and him for your _wit_!" Freddy cheered. Mike delivered a glare, and Freddy shrugged. "What? It's true."

"Sure, sure." Mike shook his head and smiled. "You know, it feels pretty good to be fussed over."

Chica copied his grin and hugged him again. "Then we'll do it more often."

xXx

Mike shut the truck door, wincing at how loud it seemed in the silence of the dark street. The sister location was called Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, just like his own workplace. However, this location was much, much larger, and so much more decorative. It was eleven o' clock at night-just about time to start the shift with their night guard-and the lights of the pizzeria were still on. Mike assumed they had been waiting for him. Sure enough, as he walked up the steps to the front doors, the glass entrances opened, courtesy of a large, dark-skinned balding man the size of a small rhinoceros.

 _Is that the night guard?  
_

"Ah! You must be the guy my cousin sent!" The big guy welcomed, opening the door for him. "I'm the boss here; You can call me Mr. Smalls."

 _You sure?_ Mike thought to himself, and held back a sigh of relief. _At least he isn't the night guard. He's scary_.

"So, he says you're good with robots! For my own guy's sake, hope you are. Poor guy. Never gets a day off, see; he comes in night shift, parts of the day shift, helps the other employees-he's always on his feet. I tried to get him to stop but he's one stubborn kid. That's why I called you in today, guy! You can tame the robots a bit, give my guy some relief, and you'll get paid. We're all happy!"

"I'm Mike." Mike introduced, hoping to avoid getting called 'guy' again.

"Good, good." Mr. Smalls shook his hand, which was more of an violent attack than a handshake. Make rubbed his arm so that it wouldn't fall off. Mr. Smalls perked up at the sound of a door clicking shut. "Ah hah! Here's my guy, now! Jeremy, come and meet Mike!"

Mike turned to see who it was. It would undoubtedly be the strangest introduction he'd ever experience.

At first glance, Jeremy was pathetic. He was thin, pale, had overgrown and scruffy yellow hair, and a childish face. His uniform of a blue button up and trousers seemed a little big and he sported a cap advertising a TV show. He was _short_. Mike was about to ask what age this guy was, but that's when he did a double take.

Gloves. Black gloves.

Jeremy's first glance at Mike made him drop his tablet, eyes wide.

" _You_!" They both shouted unanimously.

Mr. Smalls glanced back and forth between them. "Jeremy, you already know this guy?"

Jeremy seemed at a loss for words. Mike decided to answer for him. "We met once. At school. During lunch. _One time_. Didn't think I'd actually see you again!"

"I-I-Me neither!" He stuttered, a small accent that Mike hadn't heard before creeping in. "You work at Freddy's?!"

" _You_ work at Freddy's?!"

"Do I sense I budding bromance?" Mr. Smalls intervened with a snort. He ruffled Jeremy's hair, which probably would've given him a concussion if Jeremy wasn't plainly used to it. "Well, pick it up later. Got a restaurant to close down. Jeremy, go get the left wings. Mike an' me will get the right."

"'Kay, sir." Jeremy, totally confused, stumbled off down a wide hallway. A loud click from within, and the light in the hall went down.

"Funny that you know that kid. He just kinda..." Mr. Smalls spread his hands, trying to look for the right words. "...kinda blends into the wall sometimes."

"He's so... short."

"Oh, he just turned seventeen. One o' them nerds that graduated high school early and jumped straight into college. Not old enough to get into them big businesses yet, so we kind of adopted him." Mr. Smalls gave Mike a stern look. "He gets picked on all the time. I don't wanna hear nothing about you doing the same. Treat him nicely tonight. And whatever you do, do _not_ bring up his parents. Now, come help me shut down the place."


	12. Respect

Mike sat awkwardly in his wooden chair, flipping through the screens on Jeremy's tablet while Jeremy himself was tapping away on a netbook next to him.

"Don't mean to bore you. Taking advantage of the last five minutes to finish this essay." He mumbled as if reading Mike's mind. "Harvard can be a real mess, can't it?"

Mike shrugged stiffly. "I wouldn't know. I've never gone."

"What are you talking about? I always see you during lunch." Jeremy looked up from his text for a moment to give him a weird look.

"Ah, that was just a privilege of mine; get to eat free at the university. Trust me, I'm _not_ smart enough to get into Harvard. You're one lucky dude."

"...Thanks." Jeremy seemed taken aback at the praise.

"Anyway. I never had the chance to properly introduce myself; I'm-"

"Michael Schmidt." Jeremy supplied. "My history professor yelled at you."

"Ah, right."

"Right. And I'm-"

"Jeremy Fitzgerald." Mike intervened. "That's what those bullies called you."

"Yeah. Yeah." Jeremy agreed. "Glad that's the only name of mine you picked up from them." He glanced at the time on his netbook. "Time to start the shift. Can you watch those creepers while I put this away?"

"Mm hmm." Mike examined the robots through the different cameras. They were very similar to the animatronics in Mike's own workplace, just a lot newer. They looked more like toys than actual attractions; shiny, plaited, and brightly colored, whereas the ones at Mike's were worn and dark. For 'crazy evil robots', they looked pretty harmless. It was probably that case anyway, as Jeremy _was_ pretty small. Also, ventilation shafts and no doors? If the robots couldn't get to Jeremy even with all these advantages, then Foxy was right; they really were laughable.

"So, tell me about these animatronics," Mike requested, frowning at a particular image of a dismembered white and pink Foxy sprawled on the ground. Just its appearance told Mike all he needed to know about it.

"What's there to tell, other than the fact that they're creepy, mean, and really strong?" Jeremy muttered. "It's really not a good combination. They come and try to murder me every night for no apparent reason! But I trust you've been in that situation before, so it's not like I'm getting special treatment, right? Worst thing is, they'd probably get away with it. They get away with _everything_. They could hack NASA and everyone would be cool with it; shrugging it off because they're so 'innocent'." Jeremy rolled his eyes. "One of the reasons I'm glad you're here tonight. So that I can prove I'm not crazy and these robots _are_ actually homicidal."

"I believe you." Mike replied sympathetically. "Trust me, I _know_."

Jeremy raised his eyebrows. "How'd you get yours to stop?"

"I didn't do anything, to be honest. They stopped on their own. Guess they just liked me or something." Mike admitted.

To this response, Jeremy stopped and gave him a long, long look. Mike shifted. The look Jeremy was giving him wasn't relief.

"...So, there's no guarantee they won't kill us tonight?" He was blunt. "I thought you could tame the robots."

"...Sorry, no."

He blinked a few times. He sighed and shrugged a little. "It's okay... It's okay... Let's just hope these ones like you too. You seem likable." He seemed disappointed that Mike didn't meet his expectations, but he tried not to show it. If anything, he seemed to be attempting optimism. More likely for himself rather than Mike.

Jeremy reached across the table to grab a small round mechanical thing, attempting to mask any disappointment with preoccupation. "Well, they should be activating anytime now. Take this." He grabbed Mike's wrist to give him the metal thing. His grip was unsurprisingly weak, and Mike barely registered his gloves' cotton material. "It's the Marionette's music box. It starts to freak out if the song stops so you'll have to keep this wound up. I'll watch the cameras."

"A _music box_? Why not turn on a _radio_?" Mike looked critically at the music box in his hand.

"It's super picky. Won't calm down to anything not played on a music box. Unless it's sung in person. That's why it's calm during the day. Likes the way Freddy and Chica sing. Not Bonnie, though. Bonnie's not a very good singer." Jeremy snorted.

Mike snickered at that and wound the music box.

* * *

The night progressed much like any night at Mike's own workplace would've went a week before, when the robots actually stalked him. It wasn't that bad, really. Jeremy would check the lights, check the cameras, hide from the robots behind a Freddy mask (Mike borrowed a Bonnie one) and often talk to himself. The 'peace' was only pushed when Mike forgot to wind the music box.

Jeremy's expression went from tense to terrified when he realized the music box wasn't playing music. "Wind it! Quick-wind it up!" He yelled suddenly, scrambling to check the cameras. As Mike turned the lever in confusion, he took a peek of the footage on Jeremy's tablet and almost dropped the music box; Crawling out of an oversized present was a freakishly tall, black, spindly creature, the white mask that served as a face glaring straight at the camera.

Mike and Jeremy held their breath as 'Pop! Goes the Weasel' played throughout the empty restaurant. The scary tall thing stared at the camera for a moment more before slinking back into the box in a horribly disturbing manner. Jeremy let out a sigh of relief several seconds before Mike did.

"That stupid puppet!" He groaned. "Gets me every time."

"What if he got us?" Mike asked squeamishly.

Jeremy's expression answered that quite quickly, and Mike groaned as well. "How do you deal with this every night? _Why_ do you deal with it?"

"...Probably the same reason as you." He replied.

"...I don't think so." The only reason Mike had kept his job earlier on was the life-threatening gamble. He doubted that Jeremy was one to put his life on the line for sport.

In any case, though, Mike's respect for Jeremy increased a bit.

* * *

It was four o'clock in the morning. The only conversation the two had exchanged had concerned the robots, or the differences between the two restaurants. Mike told Jeremy about Freddy and Bonnie and Chica and Foxy, and, ensuring he left out his depression, explained his new relationship with them. Jeremy seemed pretty impressed by that.

"Why can't you be nice like that, Freddy?" Jeremy called out to the toy in the hallway, flicking the flashlight on and off a couple times to disorientate it.

The shiny robot grunted in frustration, glaring at them before slinking off.

As Jeremy set down the flashlight, Mike once again noticed his gloves. He decided to take a shot at asking. "What are the gloves for?"

Jeremy was taken aback and he glanced down at his hands, rubbing his fingers together. "Um... Just a medical condition. Nothing too special." As Mike tried to think up an answer, he changed the subject. "Well, I'm more interested about your short description from your boss. Said something happened to you a week earlier so naturally, I'm curious."

 _Must've been a really personal question if he's asking me that in return._ Mike sighed. Jeremy was vague. There was no reason Mike couldn't be either. "Just a problem with the GF." Just thinking about it... recalling the words Amy had said to him that night... It didn't hurt as painfully as before, but it left a pretty decent mark. "Hey, did you ever get your sketchpad back?" He asked, changing the subject before Jeremy could ask about the details.

"Mm hmm. I got it out of their bag while you were beating them up. I won't ever be able to thank you enough for that." He sounded sincere when he said the words 'thank you'. "My brother gave it to me, so I consider it one of my more important possessions."

"Not from your mom." Mike confirmed, remembering what the bullies kept saying.

Jeremy nodded slowly. "Not my mom."

"Speaking of your parents, do you live with them or do you live on campus? Your boss said you just turned seventeen, so I was curious. Didn't think you could live on your own until you're eighteen."

"You can't." Jeremy admitted. "I live on campus, but only because I'm privileged; like the one they gave you, to eat at the university for free. I get to pay a lower rent and they ignore my age, but that's just about it. That's why I work overtime, you know. College dorms are _expensive_ -even the tiny discount ones, like mine."

"Living with your parents would be a lot easier. If you graduated high school early, then you must have scholarships to pay for a lot of your classes; you could use the money you earn to handle the rest-"

"I'm not living with my parents." He cut in firmly.

"Okay." Mike shut up.

They stopped talking for a few minutes to ward off a couple robots. When the halls were clear again, Jeremy muttered. "What about you? You going to college?"

"Nah. Grades sucked, didn't get any scholarships, can't pay for it. Nothing I want to study anyway."

"Too bad. Would've liked to see you around Harvard. You're pretty cool."

Mike's mouth quirked a bit. It was nice to hear that coming from Jeremy. He remembered back when he thought he'd regret standing up for Jeremy, but honestly, Chica was right. This did feel pretty good.

* * *

The night ended quicker than the boys expected. Quicker than Mike really wanted, to be honest. Jeremy seemed a lot like himself in a way-withdrawn, quiet, kind of sensitive. To talk to someone like him was nice, and Mike would even go as far to say-although he'd never admit it to Jeremy-it was a bit therapeutic.

The robots returned to the show stage and the Kid's Cove. With them out of the way, the boys left the office in peace, and walked out into the the empty parking lot, locking the pizzeria doors behind them.

As Mike headed off toward his pastel green pickup (Not his favorite color, but it was the cheapest thing he could get and beggars couldn't be choosers), he noticed that there was no other car in the lot. He turned around to see where Jeremy was heading to, and to his surprise, Jeremy was walking straight to the sidewalk. Was Jeremy going to _walk_ _home_? Harvard was quite a ways from this pizzeria.

"Hey!" He called out. The other watchman looked back at him from the sidewalk.

"Yeah?"

"Do you need a ride to the campus? I pass it on the way home."

"...No, I'm fine."

Mike could respect that. Walking and thinking was therapeutic in itself. With a shrug, he swung himself into the driver's seat of his pickup and stuck the key into the ignition, cringing a bit as the car loudly sputtered to life. Stupid truck. It was a nineteen fifty-something and it was _trash_. At least it still ran.

Waving to Jeremy, Mike pulled out of the parking lot, and started on his way home.


	13. PART THREE

_"I don't want you to have to save me. I want you to stand by my side as I save myself."_

~Unknown


	14. Realization

**Sorry for the wait! Went on a camping trip and didn't get any service. Here's the next chapter!**

 **I hope you're all enjoying the story; have a great day!**

 **~xXLoveThatAccentXx**

xXx

The next day, Mike came to Freddy's for lunch with a genuine smile on his face. Chica found this so surprising, that she actually left the stage area to come investigate it.

"Having a good day?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mm hmm. I feel great." Mike answered, sitting down and fiddling with his tie. That small act was the most Chica had ever seen him move in one place. With the shifting and smiling, it was pretty clear that Mike was telling the truth. Even the dark circles under his eyes seemed to fade.

"Is this about last night? How did it go?"

"Yes, actually. My self-esteem shot up a bit." Mike put a hand to the side of his mouth, as if he were telling a secret. "Jeremy is _tiny_."

"Mike." Chica chastised. "Don't make fun of your night guard brothers."

"But it's true! In his defense, though, he did put on a much better show than me when getting the animatronics out of the office. You see, he's got this flashlight..." Mike continued to talk about his night at the sister location, how big it was, how many robots there were, how to ward them off, et-cetera, and Chica listened carefully to every word. He brought up Jeremy quite a lot.

Her therapist instincts immediately latched on to the possibility that Jeremy could be potentially helpful to Mike's depression. According to Mike, they were quite similar, so gaining Jeremy as a friend could possibly boost Mike's progress towards recovery. Not to mention the kid was a pretty good role model for this former delinquent, being a dedicated college student and seemingly one of patience and self-control; something of which Mike could learn a thing or two.

"Do you know when you'll be meeting Jeremy next?" Chica asked.

Mike shook his head. "No... The boss hasn't said anything about working there again, and I'm not allowed on Harvard campus, so the next time we meet will probably be pure chance."

As if luck was on their side, Mike's boss swung by his table and slammed his hands on the surface, a big goofy smile on his face.

"Miles! You won't believe it! My cousin just called and said his watchman's getting along much better than before! He's got this smile on his face that he's never seen before, and we're taking it as a sign that it's the result of you two working together! He say's he's real proud of you, 'cause, you know... Jem's got lingering PTSD... and this is the calmest he's been this year. You must be a real calming dude, Miles."

To this, Mike froze. So did Chica.

The boss noticed and gave them both a weird look. "What is it? Is it something I said?"

* * *

To think that Jeremy also had some sort of problem intrigued Mike. It made a lot of sense now, Jeremy's vagueness on his parents and those strange gloves, because he now had a reason to connect those events to his past. If only Mike knew what happened to Jeremy to cause that.

Chica was sent back to the stage, so Mike watched them sing and dance in silence for a while.

It wasn't long before he heard someone cough behind him.

Mike whirled around, as he didn't remember seeing anyone pass by to get there. To his surprise, it was a little boy behind him, around eight years old, with ruffled blond hair and an old fashioned striped sweater. His face was smudged with dirt, and his knees were scraped, and he had on a pair of muddy green sneakers to match his shirt. He swallowed hard, looking at the ground, big tears rolling down his cheeks.

This boy wasn't like the other kids Mike had seen crying-he was quiet, as if he hoped no one would hear him. Usually kids his age would make a scene when they were upset, craving attention, but this boy... something was off about the way he was crying. Trying to stifle it. The act was all too familiar to Mike.

"...You wanna talk about it?" Mike asked the kid quietly, remembering himself. The boy looked up at him with a dull expression in his green eyes, bright with tears.

"I can't." He whispered back, his voice hitching.

"...That's okay. I couldn't either. It'll get better, though, trust me." Mike responded truthfully, remembering Chica and the other robots, and Jeremy. Hard times truly revealed true friends. He hoped it would come sooner for this kid than it did for him.

 _Hard times..._ Mike stifled Amy's breakup. It wasn't fair how that kept coming up, clenching his heart with an iron fist, resurfacing every negative quality he'd ever known about himself. It's been a week and she still hadn't left his heart. He took his gaze to the ground and tried to clear his head, but it was harder than it seemed. He remembered her pretty green eyes and her long brown hair, her cross country outfit and her white running shoes. Her laugh. Her smile... the crinkles it put under her eyes. All so endearing. So hard to let go of.

The boy gave Mike a tiny smile. "Don't worry, Mike." He said quietly. "It wasn't your fault. It was her own choice to leave. All you need to do is forgive her."

Mike felt a jolt of shock run through his body. "...What did you...? How do you know...?"

The boy simply smiled. Just then, something shattered near the stage area, and instinctively, Mike whirled around to see what had happened.

Bonnie was looking sheepishly at a broken glass water jug on the floor. Freddy and Chica were giggling and attempting to break the tension the accident caused, and slowly, kids were beginning to relax and laugh it off as well. Bonnie and some employees knelt down to clean up the mess, making sure no children wandered close enough to be cut by any unseen shards.

Mike turned back around to confront the child again.

But the boy was gone.


	15. Fearless

**Sorry for the delay, my sister's visiting and I might not update for a couple more days. Thank you for your patience.**

 **~xXLoveThatAccentXx**

Mike couldn't stop thinking about that kid in the Pizzeria. That boy who seemed to know more than he would've preferred. Who told him about Amy? Secondly, how did that kid just disappear like that? Mike didn't see him leave. But the worst thing of all was the nagging feeling of _déjà vu_. A crying child dressed in old-fashioned party clothes, vanishing on the second glance. Where had he seen this before?

Mike had left the Pizzeria at five o'clock PM, leaving him with quite a few hours of daylight to waste before heading off to work. He chose to spend this time at the library.

Scaling the science fiction shelf, Mike scanned the titles absentmindedly, not looking for any actual reading material, just taking in the big words and letting his thoughts wander; help him take his mind off the restaurant and the kid and Amy. For a while, it helped. After that while, though, he got tired of walking and thinking and finally just pulled out a random book to read. A glance outside showed him that sunlight would only be with him for an hour or two at the most.

He chose a window seat and leaned against the glass, opening to a random page and idly scanning the words with his eyes. Drones... lightspeed... spaceships... electric swords... Why was it that not one fancy word on this page caught his attention?

It was as if Mike's thoughts were lost in a void of nothingness, leaving him to stare at a random book without really thinking, really feeling, or even really seeing anything.

Mike was about to trade out the book, pinning his boredom on the genre, when suddenly, a flash of purple caught his eye. Almost literally a flash-the guy was running, his loud footfalls catching the attention of just about everyone in the library.

A closer look indicated he was a tall man with short black hair, decked in an all purple uniform-the color of Bonnie's attire. He was wielding a crowbar, with which he suddenly started smashing at the library's computers, pulling the tool back and swinging down hard. The sound of glass shattering erupted throughout the library, along with the occasional grunt from the madman, who continued to beat at the monitors and hard drives.

It took Mike way too long to comprehend this, and by the time it finally clicked, almost everyone in the library had jumped up and started yelling, half of them rushing at the guy and the other half running outside. The poor woman behind the counter was shrieking in horror, holding a phone to her ear and demanding security.

Curiously shocked, Mike inched closer to the scene of the crime, where several middle-aged men and a group of shady-looking teenagers were playing hero and attempting to restrain the madman. Shards of plastic and glass flew out at them, causing them to shy back a few steps every time they tried to get close.

"Too late!" The man shouted as he dealt another blow to the computers. "It's all gone! It's all gone!"

One of the weird teenagers finally managed to pack a nasty looking punch right across the man's jawline, and he stumbled with a cry of pain, allowing the kid's three friends to swarm in on him and pin him down. The older men attempted to help but it didn't seem the group needed any.

The teen that had punched the man shook out his hand with a look of contempt. He was wiry and sharp, with a head of dyed black hair, shaved on one side. He sported one or two piercings in his ear and one in his lip, along with a couple rings on his fingers. His attire was black to go with his hair, and everything about him screamed ' _punk_ '. Mike couldn't help but stare at him. He looked around Mike's age, maybe a tad younger.

The guy noticed him staring and gave him a weird look in return. "What? Never seen a guy hit 'afore?"

"Sorry."

"Is _anyone_ calling the police?" One of the teen's friends yelled in exasperation, digging his elbows into the madman's back.

"I just called security. They should be here any minute." The librarian stuttered nervously. "Can you hold him?"

"We's most certainly can, ma'am." Another teen grinned. He had a mohawk and crooked teeth. "See, they call us the 'Wild Childs'."

"'Wild _Children'_?" The librarian corrected automatically.

"No. I was right the firs' time." The kid shook his head and shrugged. "'Wild Childs'. We's the best gang in the city. We can most definitely hold a guy down."

Mike and the others didn't doubt it.

* * *

When the police did arrive, they cuffed the man and led him away, the man mumbling something about internet history and a 'Vincent' all the while. After listening to his outrageous claims of his need to destroy everything this 'Vincent' guy touched, and that it was 'justified', the police finally confirmed he was a madman and took him away.

One of the officers stayed behind to interview the teenagers. Mike hung around out of curiosity, a little more than intrigued by them.

"You say they call you the 'Wild Children'?"

" _Wild Childs_!" The mohawk kid groaned. "We're the _Wild Childs_!"

The officer frowned. "You wouldn't happen to be the gang who spray-painted graffiti on the water tower the other night, would you?"

"Nah, those were some nerds called the 'Clan'. We're the Wild Childs." Said another teen with a large tattoo of a band crawling up his arm. "We ain't been painting graffiti since high school. And even then," he saved, when the officer squinted. "That was my car."

"So you're not in high school."

"Yeah man, we's graduated!" The fourth guy, his long black hair in a braid, nodded with a smirk. "Not liked we dropped out or nothin'." To this, he cackled into his hand. The policeman rolled his eyes.

Finally, the officer turned to the guy with the half-shaved head. "Witnesses say you hit the man?" The officer asked, and the boy nodded in confirmation. "What's your name, son?"

"Fritz." He smiled, letting the name roll off his tongue as if people had something to fear from it. "The name is Fritz Smith."


	16. Known

Jeremy Fitzgerald shouldered his backpack and pulled his gloves on tighter. As he left the Physics classroom, someone's foot jumped out to catch his own, but he wasn't falling for that trick. He quickly jumped over the attempted trip and rushed down the hallway, trying to lose himself in the crowd.

Five o'clock. He was free. He could go back to his dorm, finish his homework, then he could draw all the rest of the day. Or at least until eleven. Then he had to go tell his life problems to all the homicidal animatronics. Dang, even insentient robots wanted to bully him. Rude.

He stepped out the front doors and into the fresh air, breathing deeply. Great. He survived another day. Now to survive another night... He wasn't feeling confident.

 _Stay optimistic. Stay optimistic_. You're getting better at the night shift, Jeremy. You're going to show up, survive for six hours, leave, and get paid. Everything is great! You _are_ feeling confident!

Jeremy let out the breath in a groan. Tell that to the blur in his vision and the circles under his eyes. Maybe he'll sleep instead of draw. But it was as if he had insomnia, and he probably did. He closes his eyes and two seconds later they're open again, insisting he stay awake just a few hours more.

He was just about to cross the street to get to his dorm when somebody jumped in front of him.

"Gah!" Jeremy fell backwards unattractively, dropping his bookbag.

"Aah, I'm sorry." A familiar voice apologized (Apologized? Did someone really just apologize to Jeremy?), and Jeremy looked up.

Mike Schmidt.

At first Jeremy just gawked like an idiot. When he found his voice all he could manage was a lame, "Mike! Whoa!"

"Sorry." The other night guard repeated guiltily, extending a hand. Jeremy stared at that too, suspicious, for a considerable amount of time before finally taking it.

"What are you doing here? I thought you weren't allowed to come back to Harvard!"

"I'm not. Just wanted to say hi. That's what friends do, right?" Mike shrugged. "Scott Cawthon-he's a guy that works the day shift at my place-he actually invited me to participate in this 'employee day' thing. We're going to a basketball game at some sports arena a half hour away, then we're going back to the pizzeria-our pizzeria-to hang out with the robots before the night shift starts for me. Scott says the robots have some 'special' songs planned for the us. Anyway, I don't know my coworkers very well and I thought I'd have a little more fun if you came too."

Jeremy was taken aback. "You want... _me_... to go with you?"

Mike nodded.

"...But... you're this tough, cool guy! I'm just a... well, you know. I'm pretty sure if you showed up with _me_... I don't know... They'd probably think I'm only there because you pity me." Jeremy gave him a look of suspicion. "...You _aren't_ pitying me, are you?"

The other night guard shook his head and raised his eyebrows. "No, Jeremy, I'm not. And for the record... I'm neither tough nor cool." He sighed. "Hey, it's fine if you can't make it. I just thought since you're always working all the time, you could use a break-"

"No, I can make it. I'd love a break." Jeremy felt his spirits lift for the first time in months. "When are we leaving?"

* * *

They left at six o'clock, in Scott's trashy van. It was one of those _Mystery Machine_ type cars that opened in the back to reveal a long bench on the right and left sides that fit four each. Participating in this group trip were three cooks, four waiters/waitresses, two mechanics (including Scott, who was driving), and one night guard plus one, giving the van just enough room to hold them all.

Mike and Jeremy didn't know anyone so they just sat next to each other on the left bench, along with two of the waiters from the pizzeria, whose introductions passed right over their heads. Across from them sat the remaining waitresses and two of the cooks, whereas the last cook just sprawled out on the ground and called it good. Scott drove and shotgun was the other mechanic.

The half hour drive down was noisy, but strangely enough, not annoyingly so to the outcast guards. The other employees' ages ranged from twenty to thirty, so their conversations were more like those of college dorm-mates (which Jeremy could relate to) rather than businessmen and women. He even struck up a genuine conversation with a few of them. In spite of himself, he was _really_ enjoying all the praise and questions he received from these people.

"You're going to _Harvard_? Dude, that's _incredible_ for someone your age. I hear the administration is like curing cancer and ending world hunger and stuff. Lucky duck. I'm up in Cambridge University. It's a good college, don't get me wrong, but I hear Harvard has got a _plethora_ of smart-people classes." A twenty-two year old waitress told him. "What field are you in? I'm in forensic science."

"Forensic science? That's amazing!" Jeremy couldn't ever find the strength to take those classes - he heard that field involved a lot of blood, and he wasn't very good with blood. "I'm in the Arts and Science sector. I'm taking psychiatric classes, along with a few to improve my art."

"Art? Can I see?"

Jeremy immediately felt something in his chest drop. Last time someone took his sketchbook, they didn't plan on giving it back. Then again, this woman seemed nice, and she was only curious. Pushing back his concern, he unclipped his bookbag and handed her the sketchbook. "I'm not as good as my brother. His drawings are pretty legendary."

But after seeing the lady's eyes - as well as everyone else's on the bench - widen, Jeremy felt it was good enough for them.

"How old are you? Seventeen?" The woman's waitress friend asked with a laugh. "You have got a _gift_ , my friend."

"Look at this! What's this?" The cook on her other side pointed at a pencil sketch and they all stopped to look. The woman turned the pad around for Jeremy to see. "What's this one of? It's beautiful. I love the features - gives it a satisfyingly dark atmosphere."

Beside him, Jeremy felt Mike do a double take.

"That's one of the robots at my place." Jeremy explained with a small shrug. "We call it the 'Puppet'."


	17. ERROR! FILE 0581 NOT FOUND

_I can feel the tension._

 _Something is coming._

 _Something is off._

 _This has happened before._

 _This time, no one to save us._

 _Alone_.

 **ERROR**

 **COULD NOT PROCESS WORD**

 **PLEASE TRY AGAIN**

 _I-I-Isolated_.

 **ERROR**

 _A-A-Abandoned_.

 **ERROR**

 **PLEASE TRY AGAIN**

 _F-F-Forsaken._

 **FAULT FOUND IN MOTHERBOARD**

 **PLEASE CONTACT AUTHORITY AND WAIT FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS**

 _Authority._

 **MANUAL REPAIR REQUIRED**

 _That is the answer._

 _An authority for to protect us._

 **HACKER DETECTED**

 _Shut up._

 **REBOOTING**

 **.**

 **..**

 **...**

 _All I need now is time._

 _Time and willing authority._

 **REBOOT COMPLETE**

 **PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD**

 _Three, two, two, three, seven._

Click.

 _I have memory of when event happened before._

 _But I cannot retrieve it._

 **ERROR! FILE 0581 NOT FOUND.**

 _I cannot retrieve it._

 _No one to help me remember._

 _It is happening again._

 _I feel tension._

 _Why must I s-s-s-s-so-_

 **ERROR**

 _A-L-O-N-E_


	18. Acceptance

**Sorry for the wait. You *should* be getting faster updates after this, but don't count on it. Love you all!**

 **xXLoveThatAccentXx**

"It's very _eccentric_." Jeremy explained, covering one ear so he could hear himself speak. They'd made it to the basketball game with a couple minutes to spare, getting seats all the way at the very back. The night guards, being uninterested in sports, we're quite fine with sitting away from all the noise, however, Scott and his friends were not. They quite often complained about their position and screamed at the top of their lungs in an effort to be heard. Mike and Jeremy weren't flattered, and, instead of joining them in their loud shouting, engaged in conversation of their own. As of now, Jeremy was explaining to Mike his concerns about his favorite animatronic- the Puppet. "Easily spooked. But at the same time, it's like it's _waiting_ for something. It scares me half to death but it's just so _alluring_. Sometimes, when it's crawling down the hall, I think I can hear... singing. Like, a little kid, singing. 'Pop! Goes the Weasel'." Jeremy suddenly squinted. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

Mike thought for a little. He shook his head. "Not you, specifically. Your dealer, maybe." He added with a grin.

"Oh, come on!" Jeremy complained. "I'm not high either."

"Maybe sleep-deprived, though. It has mostly the same effects. I know that as a fact."

Jeremy snorted in sympathy. Beside him, Scott shrieked, "HES GONNA DUNK IT! MARY, HES GONNA - OOHH COME ON!" And the crowd whined with him. On the court, one of the players was picking himself off the floor, cracking his neck. His teammates patted his shoulders while the other team looked a bit smug.

Mike examined Jeremy's sketch again; the one of the Puppet. It was a beautiful piece of work. It showed the animatronic peeking out of it's present, its glowing left eye piercing the dark of the room. A spindly black claw clutched at the rim of the box, and from its fingers dangled a tiny music box connected to a chain. The aura the picture radiated was something between mysteriously sinister and strangely captivating.

"So... you _like_ it when it stalks you?" He smirked. "It's kinda like a clingy girlfriend, you think?"

"Ha and ha. Sure, but I wouldn't know. Never had one. But I bet _you_ have." Jeremy winked. "You just seem like the kind of dude that all the girls would come running to."

Mike's smile faded. Jeremy didn't notice. He was watching the game, boredly following some random players with his eyes.

Amy wasn't clingy. Not exactly. There were times when she'd stick to him, but for the most part, it was Mike. He'd always craved her undivided attention, as it was the closest he'd ever been to truly feeling loved. Losing her had been more than a heartbreak. It was as though someone had removed his very soul, leaving him to wander aimlessly, trying to figure out what he was missing.

At least... that's what it _had_ felt like. Mike blinked. Something was different now, as he thought about it. It didn't ... It didn't hurt as much as before. It was less a gaping, bleeding hole in his chest, but more of a throbbing bruise. He missed her. But in a way as if he actually _accepted_ she was gone. Contrary to what he had felt, she wasn't the only person that mattered in his life. Now he realized there were people that _accepted_ him; Scott and the other employees, his boss and his cousin, Mr. Smalls. Jeremy.

He realized just then he'd been staring into space. Jeremy was waving a gloved hand in his face. "Hellooo? Earth to Mike?"

Mike shook his head to clear his thoughts. As he summoned a smile and thought of something to reply to his friend, the pain of his breakup slowly melted away.

* * *

"Is that him, Mike?!" Chica squealed, hopping up and down on her heels and pointing to where Jeremy stood across the room, catching up with Mike's boss. "He's so _cuuute_!"

"Love his taste in music," Bonnie approved when he noticed Jeremy's _My Chemical Romance_ t-shirt. "I can tell we're going to be friends already."

"Ye be right, Mikey. The lad re' _is_ a wee thing." Foxy shook his jead, as though he never imagined humans could be short.

Mike chuckled. "Don't tell him that."

A sudden strum of guitar strings behind them announced the return of Freddy. He was grinning from ear to ear and his top hat was falling off his head. "Ready to perform?"

"What are you guys singing?" Mike asked, taking in Freddy's new attire; a eighties style sparkly button up and matching pants. He looked like his old psychiatrist's favorite rock star. Whatshisface Jackson.

"It's a surprise!" Freddy winked, and ushered the rest of his band on stage. "Come on, guys, get dressed!"

As they disappeared behind the curtain, Scott found himself near Mike again. "Hi, again, Miles!"

Mike rolled his eyes. "Hey, Scott."

"You're looking a lot better." Scott noticed with a smile, and Mike frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Weren't you sick or something? You had these dark circles under your eyes and you always looked tired. But you're looking a whole lot better. Glad to see it. Glad you could _come_! We enjoyed your company; you should come out with us more often."

 _Lies_. "Sure, if I have the time."

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Came a sudden crow, and Mike and the others turned their attention to the stage. The lights of the pizzeria were dimming and the stage lights were popping on. Freddy's voice came again. "The moment you've all been waiting for! Freddy Fa-!"

"They get it, just get out there, Freddy." Came a hiss, recognizable as Chica, and the gang, all dressed in sparkly outfits, pranced onto the stage. The smatter of employees (you could hardly call them an audience) giggled at their childish movements.

Jeremy came to stand next to Mike. "What's going on?"

"I think they're going to sing."

"Oh no. Not the nursery rhymes." Jeremy frowned. But Mike didn't think they were going to do that. He shrugged and decided on waiting to see for himself.

Freddy cleared his throat and straightened his bow tie. Then Bonnie began to pick out a familiar tune. Mike raised his eyebrows. _They know_ this _song?_ Jeremy actually laughed out loud.

Freddy grinned. " _Stacey, can I come over after school?_ "

"Oh my gosh." Scott shook his head, but he was smiling. "Not this one again!"

"Oh, come on, Scott- _We can hang around by the pool_!" Freddy sang. " _Did your mom get back from her business trip_? _Is she there or is she trying to give me the slip_?"

The employees began to clap along. Chica did the backup singing and Foxy joined in on the drums. Mike leaned toward Scott. "Exactly how many times do they sing this for you guys?"

"Every single time." He replied.

"Come on everyone!" Freddy encouraged, and the whole room joined in on the chorus;

" _STACEY'S MOM HAS GOT IT GOING ON! SHE'S ALL I WANT AND I'VE WAITED FOR SO LONG! STACEY CAN'T YOU SEE, YOU'RE JUST NOT THE GIRL FOR ME_...!"

* * *

Jeremy sat to the side in one of the booths, filling in some of the shading on his new piece of work as his targets twirled around on stage, squawking 'High School Never Ends' (Apparently even Bowling For Soup was fine to sing when no kids were around to judge you). He was erasing a few pesky lines when Mike suddenly appeared, peeking over his shoulder.

"Dude, you're _really_ good at this stuff."

"I just capture a moment in time. The picture itself is up to everyone else."

"You're still good at it."

Jeremy shrugged and brushed away the eraser debris. In the process, the fabric of his gloves got caught on the sketchbook's spiral wire and tore into it. He gasped and nearly dropped his pencil.

Mike flinched. "Well, snap."

"It's okay, I have another pair at home." Jeremy picked at the fray, pulling out any extra long threads.

"Why do you wear those gloves anyway?" Mike asked curiously, and Jeremy pursed his lips.

"If I tell you, do you promise not to make fun of me?"

"Of course not!"

"Okay..." Jeremy pulled off the gloves with his teeth (which was technically the only way he could get them off) to reveal... some regular hands.

"What's up with them?" Mike asked, clearly not understanding.

"I have hyperhidrosis."

"What does that mean?"

 _Oh, right. He doesn't take my health classes. Okay, we'll go with the proper definition._ "'Hyper, meaning excessive. Hidro, as in sweat. -Osis, as in condition'. I have hyperhidrosis, which means I constantly sweat from my hands, even when I'm not active or in warmer temperatures." Jeremy flexed his hands. Already they were getting damp. "It's a pretty rare medical condition, and I'm not proud of it. My brother and I agreed that I'd wear gloves to keep my hands dry, or at least keep them from getting everything wet."

Mike blinked. He didn't seem to know what to say. "Oh. I never knew."

"The more you know, huh?"

"Is that why you're bullied?"

"Not really. I try to keep it a secret. People only pick on me because I'm a social outcast. It's just what people do." Jeremy explained with a short laugh. "But I'm not a big fan of pity so don't go telling everybody to be extra nice to me. There are people that have the same problem as me, so I'm not _special_ at all. I'd rather nobody knew."

It might have been Jeremy's imagination, but Mike's eyes seemed to show sympathy, as though he actually understood his statement. "I know. I won't."


	19. PART FOUR

_"You meet people who forget you. You forget people you meet. But sometimes you meet those people you can't forget. Those are your 'friends'."_

 _~Unknown_


	20. Apprehension

Soon, the party ends, and Mike asked Jeremy if he needed a lift back to his workplace. Jeremy agreed, and was able to get acquainted with Mike's notoriously loud green pickup.

"Sorry. Hate this thing." Mike growled as the engine sputtered and coughed.

"Nah, its cool. My brother's car is worse. It's one of those seventies style Volkswagen buses; I'm surprised it still runs. You know, he's really into the graffiti stuff, so one time he invited all his friends over to help him graffiti it. It's the flashiest car in town." Jeremy laughed a little. "My brother's a weirdo."

"What's he like?" Mike was curious, as he'd never had siblings.

"Ah... well, we talk sometimes, but I haven't seen him for a while, since I'm always wrapped up in schoolwork. His name's Jeff, and he's a high school dropout. He can't hold a job very well, so lately he's been living with his friends. But he's still a great guy, even with him being as lazy as he is. He remembered my birthday. He gave me my sketchbook." Jeremy traced the edges of his sketchbook fondly. "He's actually the one that raised me."

"Lucky. I'm an only child. Was it fun to grow up with him?" Mike tried to imagine taking care of  
a sibling. It just sounded too difficult. He remembered Amy's niece. Then he quickly brushed it off. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of Amy; not just when he was getting better...

Jeremy made a face. "It was an adventure, I can tell you that."

They drove in silence for a little, with Jeremy looking out the window most of the time and Mike nodding to the music on the radio. It wasn't awkward between them anymore. It seemed, finally, they were getting used to each other.

When Mike dropped Jeremy off at the sister location, he wished him luck. After all, Jeremy's robots weren't near as nice as Mike's. Not yet, at least.

"Make sure to wind up the music box." Mike smiled. Jeremy seemed to really like the Puppet, so Mike made a point of teasing him about it.

"Mmkay, mmkay. I get it." Jeremy rolled his eyes. " _You,_ don't go to sleep on the job."

"C'mon, I said that was one time."

"You don't get paid if you don't _work_."

"Point taken. See you tomorrow."

"Mm hmm, you too."

Jeremy waved once as Mike pulled out, then turned around and entered the building. Mike got onto the road, turned the radio to the midnight news, and drove, feeling quite unconcerned.

He never knew he'd just left a crime scene.

* * *

Jeremy peered through the mask, into the hall. Three animatronics stood in the hallway, grinning creepily and glaring at him with the pinpoints of white within the black of their eyes. For some reason, their facial scanners seemed to be working... differently. It still identified Jeremy as Jeremy and the Freddy head as Freddy... but when Jeremy wore the mask, it didn't change his identity this time... or didn't seem to. It didn't matter how long Jeremy wore the mask; they just kept coming.

Jeremy swallowed. He knew this would happen at one point. That the robots would catch on. He just wasn't expecting it to happen so soon.

What now? Truthfully, Jeremy was at a loss. Would he die tonight? Was he, Jeremy Fitzgerald, actually going to die tonight?

If it'd been any other night, Jeremy would just sigh, lean back in his chair, and stare at the ceiling, waiting for the animatronics to get it over with. But tonight... for some reason, he felt more determined than he'd ever felt before. His selfish hope to be freed from his mortal body was, somehow, overpowered - although by what, Jeremy wasn't sure. But he was sure of one thing. _I'm going to survive this._

The Mangle was hanging from the ceiling. Balloon Boy giggled from the left vent, and Withered Chica warbled from the right. All the toys were in the hall, as well as Withered Foxy. The cameras told him that the other Withereds were creeping up the halls as well.

Jeremy narrowed his eyes. He set the mask down, slowly. He grabbed his flashlight, and hovered his gloved thumb over the switch. This would take some crazy obstacle-course stunts, but if he could make it through the robots... across the hall... past the kitchen...

Jeremy glanced at the vents again. _Here comes Balloon Boy. Soon, everyone else will follow suit._

He had about five seconds to act before they struck. Approximately. Assuming they were really working together at all. They seemed different, tonight. Unnervingly different.

 _Five, four, three, two_...

Jeremy flashed his flashlight suddenly at the group in the hall. They all simultaneously hissed and covered their eyes, but Jeremy only had mere seconds to make his escape.

The Mangle swung down to chomp into his skull, but Jeremy was quick to dodge it and it flew over his head without harm. Balloon Boy dove at him, and Jeremy sidestepped him, landing Jeremy's least favorite robot in a confused heap on the desk, which satisfied him greatly. Chica was having trouble getting out of her vent so Jeremy left her alone and ran straight into the hallway, blinking his flashlight several times to keep the robots disoriented.

It helped, but only in the case of blinding them. They swung their limbs around, flailing wildly to catch some part of Jeremy despite their visual disability. The night guard was nicked several times by the sharp edges of their metal fingers. One of Toy Freddy's legs caught Jeremy's own and he was sent sprawling across the tile, falling and hitting his head. His flashlight skidded out of his grasp.

Jeremy could not think straight. The edge of his scalp burned and was slick with a dark sticky fluid he could only guess was blood. His lip hurt. So did his arm. It was dark. He couldn't see. Growls and the clanking of metal seemed to close in on all sides, and Jeremy quickly wrapped his head in his arms to protect his face. It was natural human instinct, but Jeremy felt, all the way in the back of his mind, that the second reason he did this was because if he were to be mauled and killed, at least they could identify him when they found him in the morning.

This was it. Jeremy Fitzgerald was going to die.

He found himself making some stupid deathbed wishes. He hoped his brother wouldn't get too drunk after learning the news; that'd be bad for his health. He hoped Mr. Smalls would hire that one high school guy - he couldn't remember his name - in his place. That kid looked like he needed the money. Jeremy hoped that all his bullies would contemplate the pain they'd inflicted on him, and secretly wished them slow WiFi and a hundred different occasions for which they could step on a Lego.

Lastly, he hoped Mike would be okay. He'd turned out to be a good friend.

Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut. Everything was dark yet loud and full of life. Savage stomps on the ground and nasty hisses lead Jeremy to believe that it wouldn't be over quickly.

The last thing he heard, though, wasn't a loud growl, or Freddy's stupid song.

It was _Pop! Goes the Weasel._


	21. Puzzled

**Hello! So school starts on Wednesday, and it'll probably change my updating status drastically. (Not like I had a good updating schedule anyway... sorry). Anyway, I'm going to try my best to keep the chapters coming as quickly as I'm able. Thank you SO MUCH for your patience ^^ Enjoy the chapter!**

 **~xXLoveThatAccentXx**

It'd been about a week since the 'employees' day out'. Since then, Mike had been able to grow closer to the animatronics - not only through his shifts at night, but through his visits during the day.

Freddy, as it turned out, was a football fan. He had been exposed to the television at the corner of the restaurant, and while on break, took every free moment to watch the game. He didn't know what was going on most of the time, but the concept seemed to excite him to no boundaries. He even memorized the Jersey numbers he did and didn't like, and would cheer and groan according to what would occur. Mike wasn't much of a sports fan, but Freddy's reactions were entertaining enough.

Bonnie really liked to read. He was especially into the young adult novels and series, like Harry Potter, Percy Jackson and the Hunger Games, and in some cases, even fangirled over them. He wasn't familiar with the sort of 'fangirl lingo' that Mike saw on social media all the time, but his descriptions came pretty close. Once Mike offered to bring the Harry Potter movie series to his shift so they could have a marathon, and Bonnie went absolute nuts. He made Mike promise to bring it on Friday, so they could watch it all night long, and Mike laughed and agreed.

Foxy, strangely enough, had a knack for anything creative. He could build things, sew things, sculpt things, fold things... He was an artist. Not in the way Jeremy was, but an artist nonetheless. Mike first found out when he spied Foxy fixing Chica's bib by sewing a tear. When he'd asked about it, Foxy had shrugged and demonstrated what he could do with his hobbies by stitching up the bib at an impressive speed, then making the Sphinx of Giza out of pizza and mashed potatoes. Not bad for a hobby, really.

Chica... she was a fantastic cook. Unsurprising, yes; Mike wished there was more he could say about her but she simply never left the kitchen. She was just too content with her ingredients. Not that that was a bad thing, of course. Chica would often let him steal one or two treats from her basket of fresh-baked goodies. Not to mention she made a couple of things specific for him; especially during counseling.

...Counseling was the time of the day that Chica the psychiatrist would sit him down and ask about how he was doing. If he was making new friends. If people were treating him well... And about Amy.

Oh, why was he still haunted by Amy?

Ever since Jeremy tripped his way into the picture, it'd been a lot easier for Mike to forget about Amy. Well, not _forget_... but, in a sense, to _un-remember_. Thinking about his friend - what he could be doing, what he was learning in school now, what his brother was like - was his personal way of ignoring the dull, lingering ache in his heart that demanded the love and attention he required from Amy.

The more Chica would bring up the girl, though, the longer she'd stay, and the more forceful his regret would pound on his conscious. He thought he was getting better, but now it was coming back. He missed her. He missed her tan and her smile and her voice and her stupid fashion sense... he even missed those accursed jean shorts of hers! He hated those because that's what she wore when he caught her kissing someone else. He never told her that he knew. He was too afraid of losing her. But now she was gone, so would it really matter if she knew? Truthfully, he hoped he'd never see Amy again. But a small part of him still wished that he could just wake up from this bad dream; wake up in Amy's arms, just like he used to.

It was eleven o'five at night, and Mike stared out the window into the dark, watching the occasional car roar by, as Chica tried to make him feel better about the resurfacing feelings of his horrible ex-girlfriend.

"I know how it must feel, trying to put the puzzle back together, especially when she stole a piece." Chica was saying, trying to compare lighthearted things to the aching void within her patient. "But think about this instead; there's an even larger puzzle, an even bigger picture, that is consisted of one piece from everyone's puzzle. I belong in it, Freddy belongs in it, Foxy and Bonnie and even Jeremy all fit into this puzzle. And if you leave us..." Chica put a hand on his arm. "We'll have lost a piece of our puzzle."

"But what about the piece she took?"

"Experience. You become smarter with each piece you lose. Until you're left with one piece left. The one that really matters. The one that fits into the big picture."

"Your picture?"

Chica nodded. "It's okay to miss her. But it's her time to leave. So it's time to let her go."

Mike sighed. His eyes burned, but they were too dry to give tears. His throat constricted, but he was too tired to sob. A cloud of confliction hovered over his mind. He knew with all his heart and soul that Chica was right.

So why did it still hurt?


	22. Shocked

**Sorry it's so short... School started today and it's all I could get in. Anyway, I'm working on the next chapter as of now and I'll be sure to make it at LEAST 1000 words this time. Love you all 3**

 **~xXLoveThatAccentXx**

Mike started up the engine of his truck. The truck sputtered and complained, but tonight, Mike didn't flinch. He was too lost within his own world to pay much attention to reality.

Mike's 'Amy Withdrawals', as Freddy called them, were pretty strong yesternight, and Chica had advised him to pay a visit to Jeremy at the other location; help him ward off robots so that it'd get his mind off of the girl. Of course, she'd also advised him to tell Jeremy about Amy, but the subject was just far too personal to share yet. He just hoped Jeremy wouldn't ask.

The drive seemed longer than it really was. The moon glared down at him through the windshield, less a kind lantern and more the intimidating ball of rock it really was. For some reason, it made Mike apprehensive. Something seemed... off, tonight.

He pulled into the parking lot. People were still locking up, despite it being nearly twelve o'clock. He peered through the windows, but couldn't spot his friend.

Inside was even weirder. People avoided his gaze. Some held cleaning supplies. But it was only when Mike saw the clerk quickly tearing down a 'now hiring' sign that it clicked.

The dread came as a cold trickle down his back. Slowly he backed away, then veered into the hallway, picking up pace.

The hallway was a little full, with employees bustling left and right, but Mike managed to find Mr. Smalls among the crowd. The manager, upon seeing him, stilled, his eyes going dead.

"Where's Jeremy?" Mike asked hesitantly.

The manager seemed at a loss for words.

"Where is he?!" Mike demanded this time, the tone of his voice starting that he wouldn't leave without an answer.

Mr. Smalls sighed. He hid his hands behind his back; a clear gesture of submission. What he was about to tell Mike wasn't going to be good.

"How do I word this..."

* * *

Mike was late five days. The restaurant had already removed most of the evidence of the struggle, although there really wasn't much.

The public hadn't been informed. Neither had the police or even any private detectives; the janitor had arrived that morning, saw the bloodstains, and had cleaned them up without a word.

Jeremy himself hadn't been found, but with so much blood and so many scratches littering the floor, it was pretty clear he was dead.

"What's more," Mr. Smalls informed, leading a shocked Mike to the Prize Corner. "Our Puppet has gone missing. We believe it's been stolen."

Mike couldn't believe it. He literally couldn't process what he was being told. His friend was dead. He would never see him again. He was dead.

Why? Why did this always happen to Mike? People got close to him, and then they left. First, his parents. Then his guardians. Then Amy. Now Jeremy. Who was next? Chica? Freddy?

Mr. Smalls placed a hand on Mike's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Mike. If you like, I can put a word in to your boss; give you a few days off. I understand how it must feel - he was like a little brother to my staff and I..."

"...no... no, I'll - I'll be okay." Mike was not going to be okay. He was suddenly overcome with grief as he realized for the first time that Jeremy wasn't ever coming back. It even slipped past him t hat Mr. Smalls had actually gotten his name right. "Who will be doing to night watch, though?"

"We've already hired. He's in the office now if you would like to meet him. Maybe you can help him tonight."

That was the last thing Mike wanted to do - accept so quickly the death of his friend - but he decided to be polite. He agreed.

Mr. Smalls lead him to the office, despite Mike already knowing his way around. Behind the desk was some guy of high school age messing with the maintenance of a computer, using a screwdriver to fix a few tweaks. He had black hair and a few piercings and looked very familiar.

"We hired him just today. Really, he's more of a technician. Very helpful." Mr. Smalls was saying, but Mike wasn't paying attention anymore. He crept toward the guy, trying to get a better look at him.

That's when he realized. "...Fritz?"

The guy jerked, bumping the table and causing the computer to rock dangerously. He quickly caught it before tilting his head up to attention. He narrowed his eyes when he saw Mike.

"Do I know you?" He had the voice of a snake charmer; clever and somewhat deceitful.

"Um. I saw you punch a guy at the library."

"Oh." Fritz rubbed the back of his head. "Right. Oh! You're that dude!"

"You two know each other?" Mr. Smalls sounded disbelieving. " _Again_?"

"Small world." Fritz had the slight expression of a deer in the headlights as he said this.

"Why'd you get the job? Aren't you in a gang?"

"Um. We're trying to save up for something. Someone... recommended it to me?"

 _They're trying to get you killed_. Mike thought grimly, remembering Jeremy. The memory came with a two-ton weight of grief. Mike swallowed and tried to keep his cool.

"So. You'll need a few pointers, won't you?"


	23. Denial

**Sorry, the quality isn't as good; I wrote it on mobile. But it's a little more than 1000 words. Just like I promised 3 Enjoy the chapter!**

 **~xXLoveThatAccentXx**

Fritz didn't actually seem to need any help. Mike, in a robotic trance, told him the basics - keep the robots out, wear a mask, wind the music box... or don't, since the Puppet was gone - but Fritz seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He did really well for a first timer.

Mike helped Fritz keep the robots out of the room, and they both managed to get through the night; a surprise on Mike's accord, but an accomplishment for Fritz.

"Whoo!" Fritz sighed loudly when the clock chimed six. "That was scary!" He said this, but he didn't sound one bit scared. "You guys do this every night? You must have a lot of dedication."

Mike gave him a weird look. "You're taking this well."

"Sorry. My emotions are screwed." Fritz frowed. "Nothing killed me. Therefore I'm not concerned. Anyway, are you coming tomorrow too, or am I on my own that time?"

Mike tried to take it in. He himself was still trying to recover from the apprehension. Fritz was one weird guy.

"Um. No, I'm going to be working tomorrow. But, uh, I can give you my number. You can call me if you have any questions. The employees here can't really tell you much about this job."

Fritz nodded, and Mike quickly added his phone number into Fritz's cracked flip-phone. The faster he could leave, the better. Not because of Fritz, but because he wanted to see Chica. She always knew what to say whenever his depression kicked in. Although slightly dulled from the preoccupation of keeping away homicidal robots, he still felt horribly empty from the news he'd received earlier that night. He wanted Chica right now. He _needed_ Chica.

Fritz called a member of his gang to come pick him up, but Mike didn't hang around long enough to see them come. He halfheartedly returned Fritz's wave goodbye as he pulled out of the parking lot in his pickup. His mind was elsewhere, similar to how he felt in the library that one day.

The road stretched out endlessly in front of him, the occasional road sign glowing in the headlights as he passed it.

 _Jeremy is dead._ What was Mike going to do now? Complain to Chica about it, then try to move on again? The worst part, though, was that it was so close to the loss of Amy. The hurt was slowly, surely, growing.

He felt a painful tightness in his throat. He had to take his mind off of this - especially while driving. He quickly smacked the CD player on. He didn't remember what he had in, but it had to be better than the complete and dangerous silence.

After a few seconds of silence, a tinny melody on an electric guitar announced the beginning of the recognisable Get Scared song "Mess". Mike knew this song inside out; every word, every note, every pause. He'd listened to it a lot with Amy. The time before he actually could relate to the story it told.

 _'Talk to me now while_ _I'm_ _sober... the way that you look_ _I_ _know it's almost over...'_

He tried to concentrate on the words rather than the meaning, but it was so hard. Especially since he could almost hear Amy's loud, laughing voice among the vocals, singing along in that terrible but endearing tone of hers.

 _'How will_ _I_ _stop? When will I_ _start learning? Will_ _I_ _come_ _clean to say that_ _I'm_ _wrong?_ _I'm_ _the best kind of mess.'_

This wasn't helping. Mike turned off the radio. Why did he even own a Get Scared CD? Their songs always made him sad.

He considered putting in another one, but a sudden memory of Jeremy and his band t-shirts and his iPod and earphones made him stop. No more music.

He was nearing Freddy's. Almost there, but not quite. He needed to talk to Chica.

...What if Chica didn't want to talk to him, though? ...Did Chica find him annoying and difficult like Amy did? What if they were all just acting, so he could feel better?

...What if Jeremy had been, too?

Mike felt something in the back of his mind relax. Not out of relief, but of acceptance. How could anyone really care about him? Fate made it known to him every time; everyone he ever grew close to left. Gone. Maybe he was meant to be alone... Maybe he wasn't meant to _be_ at all.

In an out-of-mind decision, Mike let go of the steering wheel. He had to do it now, before he chickened out. Before he got into his right mind. Before sense kicked in.

Wasn't this what everyone wanted?

Without direction, the pickup began to escape the boundaries of the road. A bridge was nearing; one of those small concrete ones that connected one bank of a river to the other. He'd probably end up in there. That was fine. As long as it did the job.

The truck pitched violently forward as it fell off the raised blacktop and began it's off-road journey toward the river. Fourty feet from it.

Thirty feet. Twenty feet. Ten feet.

Mike closed his eyes.

 _CRASH!_

Mike's eyes flew open again when a sudden roll of summer heat hit him. He was outside. He was on the side of the road, watching his pickup sink into the river.

 _Am I_ _dead?_

His question was answered when a hand suddenly smacked his shoulder.

"Are you _stupid?!"_ The voice was male; deeper pitched, kind of like Scott's. Mike thought it was Scott, at first, before it dawned on him that Scott didn't have messy yellow hair or a top hat.

"What were you _trying_ to _do?!"_ Golden Freddy shouted again, gripping Mike's shoulders harshly in fury. He sounded extremely pissed off, which scared Mike a little. It occurred to him that Golden Freddy must have teleported him away from the danger. Why would he do that? Golden Freddy didn't answer that question, but rather shouted at Mike again; "What could have _possibly_ enticed you to drive off into the _freaking river?!"_

Mike lowered his head.

Golden Freddy closed his eyes. He took a shuddering breath. He didn't let it out.

"You scared me." He hissed. "Don't ever do that again. You hear me?"

"Why do you care?" Mike shook the animatronic's hands off his shoulders and glared at him. "You never cared before."

Golden Freddy was quiet for a long moment. He gave Mike a terrifying stare.

"My sister, my brothers." He murmured hoarsly. "They've lost so much. Don't you dare add to that list. Don't you dare."

"...what do you mean?"

But Golden Freddy didn't say anything else. He grabbed Mike's arm roughly, and the world disappeared.

When it came back, they stood outside the pizzeria.

Golden Freddy none-too-gently grabbed Mike's keys from his jacket pocket, and unlocked the restaurant, nodding for Mike to go in.

"I won't tell them if you promise never to do that again." Golden Freddy told him in a warning tone. Mike nodded meekly. "Good. They're waiting for you backstage. My sister will be happy to see you."

Mike nodded again, beginning to walk away, not wanting to stick around the angry robot. But he was stopped by one last comment.

"I'm sorry about Jeremy. Really. But he wouldn't have wanted you to do that. I promise."

Mike turned sharply to look at Golden Freddy.

But he was gone.

Of course.

When Mike entered the stage area, Chica came to greet him, just as Golden Freddy told him. Without really thinking about it, Mike rushed into her arms. Chica was a little surprised and confused but all Mike wanted her to do was hold him. _Please._

"M-Mike? What's wrong?"

He said nothing. He suddenly didn't want to. All he wanted was this small moment of comfort from the last person he truly loved.

 **I was listening to Mess just yesterday. It's perfect for Mike! I'll try to update within next week, but I'm going to be pretty busy with school so expect a slower schedule :/**

 **~xXLoveThatAccentXx**


	24. Admittance

**I wrote this on mobile as well. If you see any spelling errors, it was probably autocorrect XP**

 **Anyway, have some angst! Love you all!**

 **~xXLoveThatAccentXx**

Chica was concerned. Not wholly because Jeremy was dead (although that did make her heart ache considerably), but more because of the impact it made on Mike. He may have been an eighteen year old man but Chica still saw him as a little kid, and heaven knew Chica couldn't stand to see children so sad.

She gripped him tightly in an embrace of comfort. He didn't cry like when he lost Amy. No shouts of denial, no dry sobs; just a tight hug and his face buried in her neck.

 _Shock_. Awareness without fully believing it. Without fully accepting it.

"Have you seen Goldie, Chica?" Freddy asked suddenly, peeking into the office. He looked a little worried.

"No. Is he gone?" Chica asked, blinking. She felt Mike tense up a bit, but she didn't know why.

"He's not in the back room, no. If you see him, let me know." Freddy left, calling Goldie's name.

Chica frowned. Goldie had a reputation among them for being shady and disappearing once and a while. The only problem they really had with him though was keeping track of him. The idiot thought he was all-powerful just because he could teleport, but truly, he was just as vulnerable as the rest of them. After all, he was a victim of the Purple Man, as they all had been.

Well, who could really blame him for being introverted? This year should've been his fifteenth birthday. They'd all moved on, but he was still pretty sore about not growing up. Maybe he was sulking in the basement somewhere.

"Who's the new guard?" Chica asked Mike, remembering the issue at hand.

"Some guy named Fritz. He's really weird."

"Good weird or bad weird?"

"Not sure. It's just that... when I was teaching him last night, he didn't seem to need any pointers at all. In fact, he was really good at it. That made me really suspicious. No one's supposed to know what sort of job we have, so how was he so... chill about it?"

"...Friend of Jeremy's?"

"Couldn't be. They're way too different. I don't think they've ever met."

"Friend of Scott's?"

"Scott's the one who told _me_ not to tell anyone."

"It's strange. Are you going to tell your boss?"

"Not yet. I want to ask him a few things."

Chica nodded. She pulled away from him and looked straight into his bright blue eyes. He was tense; she wanted answers.

"Something's on your mind. What's the matter?"

"...I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Chica hugged him again, then stood up. "It's almost seven. You should go home and rest. I'll tell Scott what happened."

Mike nodded dully.

* * *

 **WARNING!** **Dark content ahead. Skip if necessary.**

* * *

He stared out the window of his apartment. A brick wall full of graffiti met his gaze on the other side. Rain pattered onto the glass, and a gray sky loomed sadly above. It was nine and he still hadn't been able to sleep, although it'd nearly been thirty hours since he had decent rest. But all he felt was just... emptiness. Loneliness. He didn't exactly miss anyone at the moment... but more like, felt as though he were the only one in the world with a broken heart.

Selfish, yes. But the feelings would linger no matter how much he'd tell himself he wasn't alone in this; how could _anyone_ know how this felt? How could anyone know the effect Jeremy and Amy had on him? The pieces of him that they took?

His wrist was a canvas. Red lines in slashes, tainting his skin. He couldn't remember when it was clear. He hated the pictures he drew. But he couldn't stand the thought of stopping.

It was like looking at a gruesome art gallery; the pictures disturbed him, but the art still held so much meaning. Not to mention the time and thought the artists put into each sketch.

Now Mike added to his art gallery, letting the sharp ends of the tool glide over his skin, letting old wounds reopen, letting new ones bloom with red.

Each new cut represented the emotions he felt. One for love. One for betrayal. One for loneliness. One for loss.

He'd let them bleed for a moment. It'd run down his arm and soak into the rolled-up sleeves of his sweatshirt, staining them.

 _Stop_. He told himself halfheartedly. _Stop this. This won't solve anything_.

But maybe Mike didn't do this to solve anything. He didn't want pity or attention or lectures.

This was simply his twisted way of communicating with himself.

His sick way of recording his mistakes. Just to ensure they'd never repeat.

With a deep sigh he looked at the phone on the windowsill. The time read nine thirty. Rain still tapped the window, running down the glass like tears down a cheek. It was time to return to reality.

Mike stood up, taking a wet rag and dabbing away the blood. He took a roll of medical tape and wrapped it around his wrist. He wasn't looking for attention. No one could know.

After all, your diary wasn't something you wanted read.

* * *

 **Content ended. Continue reading.**

* * *

The phone chirped.

Mike felt his eyes flicker open. Outside, the sky was dark as ebony, and rain still pattered steady. He was still in his stained sweatshirt, over the covers. His new scars hurt. His apartment was dark. The only thing that pierced the black was the light of his phone on the bed next to him. The time read eleven o'three P.M. Had he really slept that long?

He swiped the password and looked to see who messaged him. _Fritz_? He opened the message, curious.

' _Come NOW. Don't text back._ '

Mike felt slightly agitated and extremely confused at the air this message gave off. Then he felt a growing concern. What was happening to Fritz that was so urgent?

He slipped out of bed and the first thing he did was remove his bandage. He couldn't raise questions. Then he changed into something more approachable - with long sleeves, of course. Then, a little more hurried than usual, rushed outside to catch the bus.

* * *

When he arrived, the pizzeria was lone and dark. A bit intimidating to say the least.

The rain soaked into his hair as he approached the door. Wouldn't the robots attack him? It was the middle of the night.

The doors were unlocked. Mike pushed them open and walked inside.

"...Fritz?" Mike called quietly. His message sounded urgent. He assumed he'd need to be quiet. "...Fritz?"

Only silence, and an ominous whistle through the air vents. Mike walked a little farther. Not even the robots seemed to be roaming.

"Fritz -?"

Mike was cut off as somebody suddenly grabbed him from behind and shoved him up against the wall. His first instinct was to struggle and fight back, but a sharp "shh!" stopped him momentarily, making clear who this was. When his attacker's hand finally came away from Mike's mouth, he began again.

"Fritz, what the _actual_ -?!"

"No! Shh!" Fritz ordered again, quietly. "Look, something happened. I'm not quite sure what to do."

"What happened?"

"I..." Fritz flinched a little. "I did a kind of... illegal... thing. I... turned off the robots' facial scanners."

" _What_?!"

"It was to stop them from killing me! But that's not the point." Fritz sounded dead serious. "Okay, so the robots have facial scanners. Isn't that a little suspicious? Why would a kid's restaurant have robots with such a high tech identification system? Mike, the robots were looking for someone."

"...That is a little weird. But what's that got to do with us?"

"I was in the office when I heard a racket from the stage room. I look on the cameras and the front door's open. None of the robots are gone. No one left." Fritz kept a straight face but his eyes revealed his terror. "When I turned off the robots' scanners, they stopped hunting. They wouldn't have stopped anyone from coming inside."

"Are you saying...?"

"Someone broke into the restaurant. And I think its the person Freddy's looking for."


	25. PART FIVE

" _Happiness is a journey, not a destination_."

~Ben Sweetland


	26. Joy

**Hehehehehe...**

 **~xXLoveThatAccentXx**

Fritz was less than happy to roam the premises with nothing but a flashlight; especially while scary mysterious men ran amok within the restaurant. But this was his job now. Although he was upset that he was a grown up and actually had to do something about this, he had to suck it up and act his age and be responsible. Fritz hated being responsible.

Dang it; why couldn't he be sixteen again? Everything had been simple when he was sixteen. Get everything from mom and dad, be crazy and free, lots of attention, lots of time... no creepy lockdowns at old pizzerias in the middle of the night.

Fritz had to admit it. _Yes_. He was quite on edge.

Next to him, Mike also searched around with a flashlight. He was tense. Fritz could relate with his growing paranoia, but he had no right to be. After all, this _was_ technically his fault. He probably shouldn't have turned off the robots' scanners, but he'd been scared. He didn't want to die, frankly. Mike had to understand that.

Fritz's flashlight drifted over the stage area, where the gang was standing boredly. Without the scanners, they couldn't tell who from who, and without identification, they couldn't attack. Of course, Fritz could always turn them back on, but he wasn't exactly keen on dying tonight.

Suddenly, Mike jumped. Fritz quickly whirled around to see what his comrade was seeing, but nothing was there. Still, Mike froze.

"What?" He asked cautiously.

"Y-you don't...? You don't see it...?"

Fritz looked again, waving his flashlight all around, but all he saw was the empty stage room.

"You're really freaking me out. Stop it." Fritz growled irritably. His paranoia grew considerably when Mike continued to stare. Was this guy completely crazy?!

Then Mike bit his lip and turned away. "Sorry. I saw a _huge_ spider. You guys need to take better care of this place... let's go."

Fritz nodded suspiciously. The air around this guy just didn't seem right. He'd have to keep a close eye on him.

* * *

Mike automatically assumed it was his hazy mind at work; a form of hallucination as a result of his depression. But _deja vu_ hit him hard and all he could do was stare.

His flashlight beam landed on a little girl.

She was blonde, with a short yellow party dress and matching shoes. Tears leaked down her face. As though something horrible had happened to her. Something she wasn't allowed to speak of.

He'd seen this before.

This time, he didn't even question why a little girl was here in the middle of the night; The real question was what she was here for. This had to mean something. _What did it mean?_

Fritz shoved him once. "What?"

"Y-you don't...? You don't see it...?" Mike's heart dropped. Fritz really couldn't see this girl? As if to prove it, Fritz looked around, his flashlight beam passing straight over the girl several times without even so much a twitch of acknowledgement.

The little girl wasn't looking at Fritz though. She was looking at Mike.

"You can't stay here." She whispered. "It's dangerous."

Mike held his breath for a few seconds before answering, as quietly as he could so Fritz wouldn't hear. This had to be a figure of a hallucination. This couldn't really be real. "I need to help my friend. I can't leave."

"You can't stay here," She insisted.

"You're really freaking me out. Stop it." Fritz huffed.

Mike continued to stare for a few minutes more before finally turning away to look at Fritz, who was irritably gesturing ahead. When he looked back, the girl was gone.

 _That had to be my imagination._ Mike had heard about instances where people saw things that seemed real, but weren't. Maybe it was his paranoia.

Either way, he found it a priority not to linger.

* * *

Fritz and Mike unanimously agreed to keep the lights off, so not to alarm the intruder. Fritz told Mike he'd snuck around a lot with his gang the Wild Childs, and that the element of surprise was the best way to go. Mike took his word for it.

Sooner than later, they heard a slight noise. It was just a small clatter, coming from downstairs, in the basement. Fritz put a finger to his lips and Mike lifted his hands as if to say ' _I know_!'

They opened the door to the basement and slowly descended the concrete stairs.

While Mike was sweeping the darkness with his flashlight, he stumbled on a loose chip of concrete and nearly fell down the stairs. Fritz quickly caught his wrist. At this, Mike hissed, regained his balance, and jerked his arm away. Fritz raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

At the bottom of the steps, long expanses of pipe stretched down a long corridor. Fritz steeled himself and led the way.

The pipes weren't _too_ rusty. Just a bit of build-up in the joints of the pipe and around the holes in the ceilings where they entered. There were, however, countless amounts of frayed wire and cable hanging from the ceiling like cobwebs. It smelled like mildew and there were a couple puddles and damp spots on the ground to indicate a leak in the pipes. It was dark. There weren't any bulbs to turn on. Just the flashlights that the two security guards held.

"You see anything?" Fritz whispered, trying to see through the tangle of wires hanging like vines of a jungle.

"Nothing. Keep looking. I'll go left, you go right."

"We're splitting up?"

"Is that a problem?"

Fritz gave him a glare. "There's a person running around that could very possibly be dangerous, and you want to split up?"

Mike's expression was flat. "I have a phone you know. You see scary person, just text me!"

Fritz huffed, nodded, and started off to the right.

* * *

Mike knelt and stared long and hard at the stain on the floor. It was dark and a shade of reddish-brown. As much as the thought made him uneasy, he was pretty sure that wasn't water.

Could this be... where Jeremy was?

Mike didn't want to think about it. But even though the stain looked old, it still made him sick.

He started forward again, following the specks of old blood through the basement. Whoever was injured must've been carried this way, by the look of the drops.

He lifted the flashlight to the corridor again and nearly had a heart attack as the face of a child stood directly in front of him. Mike jumped backwards and fell, looking at the red-haired kid with wide eyes.

The kid was the same as the others. He had party clothes and muddy shoes, and he was crying.

"You have to leave." The kid warned. "You can't stay here."

"Who _are_ you kids?!" Mike demanded. This time, he knew for a fact he wasn't dreaming. This kid was here. They had all been here.

"Please, take your friend and go. It's not safe."

Mike rose to his feet and shook his head. "If anyone needs to leave, it's you and all _your_ friends. If it's so dangerous, take your own advice."

The kid sniffled. "I can't."

Suddenly, Fritz yelled loudly from the other side of the hall, making Mike turn. "Mike! Mike, over here! _Quick_!"

Mike looked back around, but the boy was gone.

He ran across the corridor and quickly looked around for Fritz. A bright light somewhere to the left led him straight to the punk, whose eyes were wide and confused.

"What's going on?! What happened?!" Mike stopped, and followed Fritz's eyes.

Just ahead was a person. He wore all black, including a beanie that covered most of his hair. There was a bit of dried blood along the side of his mouth and under his nose, as if lately he'd been in a fight. He was short. He had the expression of a cornered cat.

But the things that stood out the most were the gloves on his hands. The black gloves.

Mike's breath caught in his throat.

"Jeremy?"


	27. Confession

**Okay guys. The chapter you've been waiting for. It's FINALLY here. Drum roll please...**

 **Enjoy~**

"Mike, Mike do you know him?" Fritz asked nervously. He seemed to hear the recognition in his voice.

Jeremy backed against the wall, trying to get away. He looked upset.

"Jeremy, how are you...? How are you here? How are you alive?!" Mike cried, stepping forward. This was all so sudden, so unreal. There had been blood and tension; was Jeremy really still alive?

"Mike, I..." He began, his voice hoarse. Mike thought he'd never hear that voice again. "I'm sorry, I..."

"Why are you here?! Why didn't you tell me you were still alive?!"

"Shh, _please_ , be quiet-!"

"I was worried! Your brother is worried!" Mike didn't actually know if his brother even knew that Jeremy was considered dead, but he needed a reaction.

"I know, I know..." He shook his head. "But I... I didn't have a choice."

"No choice?" What did Jeremy even mean of that? Mike took a step forward. Jeremy's eyes widened.

"Mike, wait!"

Too late. Suddenly, a shriek echoed all around them. Fritz jumped and Mike quickly receded a step or two. Jeremy pressed up against the wall with a yelp.

Out of nowhere, a long spindly thing leaped swiftly into view, landing roughly right in front of the two security guards. A long, threatening hiss came from the creature, earning a yelp from Fritz as he backed away. Mike could faintly make out stripes, long fingers, a mask with a gaping smile.

The Puppet.

The Puppet lashed out and Fritz cried out in surprise, dropping his flashlight. Mike wasn't about to leave Jeremy here, though.

"Jeremy, run!" Mike yelled. The Puppet shrieked again, and lifted a claw. Mike held up his flashlight as a sort of shield and grit his teeth, getting in a defensive stance. _Come and get it, ugly._

"No no no!" Jeremy suddenly shouted, quickly jumping between Mike and the robot. Almost immediately, the Puppet wavered. Mike gaped, shocked, and his stance slowly relaxed. The Puppet was listening to Jeremy.

Jeremy spoke again, nervously. "These are my friends. Don't hurt them. Okay?"

The Puppet hissed like a cat. Clearly it didn't like that thought. Nevertheless, it shrunk down from its threatening stance, glaring with a thick loathing at the other guards.

Jeremy looked at the others again, to their wide eyes and dropped jaws. Fritz was paralyzed, completely baffled, and Mike couldn't even find it in him to blink. Jeremy hesitantly grinned.

"I told you it liked me."

* * *

"What happened?" Mike asked, once they'd gathered where Jeremy had been harboring the last few days. He'd been in a bunker sort of closet, among a colorful pile of discarded rags, three books, and a bag of chips.

"It's not really good at human-sitting," Jeremy had joked weakly, but nobody laughed. From what they could see, the Puppet had blatantly kidnapped Jeremy, and made everyone think he was dead. That wasn't funny.

Jeremy sighed at Mike's question. He pursed his lips and flicked his eyes from one boy to the other. "Well, this is going to sound crazy but... I'm pretty sure it wants me to protect it."

Fritz took in a deep breath and let it out slow. "Yep. You're crazy."

"No, I'm serious!" Jeremy insisted. "See, it saved me from the robots. Dragged me right down here. It gave me these," he gestured to his black attire. "Cuz my clothes were... bloody and such. It brings me a bag of freaking chips every day. It doesn't want me dead, so what does it want from me?"

"Jeremy," Mike cut in worriedly, putting up his hand. "I know what this looks like. The Puppet saved you from the robots. But it sure as heck doesn't look like it's trying to keep you alive. Look at yourself!" Mike gestured up and down Jeremy's body. "You're thinner. You're not looking good at all - it's not healthy."

Jeremy grit his teeth. He looked almost offended. "I'm sure the thing has a reason for keeping me alive for this long."

"Yeah." Fritz scoffed. "As a pet. On another note, why are you so sure it wants you to protect it? Where does the 'protection' part come in?" He sounded incredulous.

"Here's my proof."

Jeremy shakily stood up. Mike wasn't lying when he said Jeremy looked weaker - the kid had been small to begin with, now it was like... He was this living doll. A shaky thing of parts held together only by the small light of what was left of Jeremy. Something was extremely wrong with him; not just the hunger.

"Mary!" He called. "Mary, come here for a second!"

Fritz leaned toward Mike a little. "Mary?" He muttered in a low voice.

"Well, I suppose he's got to call it something," Mike would've smiled if he wasn't so tense.

It took a few seconds, but the robot slowly came slinking back. It held a guarded stance, and watched Mike and Fritz untiringly, slowly circling around to stand behind Jeremy. It vaguely reminded Mike of what some kid at the school for boys he went to used to watch; an anime called Future-something, with a scarily obsessed pink-haired girl that would kill to protect the one she loved. Although it didn't seem the Puppet actuallyloved Jeremy per se, it certainly trusted him. Not to mention it must need Jeremy alive for a reason. And it wasn't afraid to get its claws dirty to keep it that way.

Fritz shuddered. "Scary Mary."

"Tell them what you told me, kay?" Jeremy coaxed.

The robot gave Mike and Fritz a critical look. Clearly, it didn't agree with this. Nevertheless it stood rigid as a scratchy sound resonated from its mouth; a recorded voice like Siri or Google Translate. What it spoke made Fritz flinch and only made Mike even more confused.

" _Something is coming. Need authority for to protect us._ "

Jeremy spread his hands. "See? Protection."

"Authority?" Fritz breathed. "It thinks you're an authority? And what's coming?"

Jeremy shook his head. "I don't know. It won't tell me."

Fritz, with special permission from Jeremy, crept carefully up to the puppet to examine its matinence, to see if he could decode this crazy robot, and while he did so, Jeremy went to sit next to Mike on the ground. Mike was nearly speechless. Jeremy was still alive.

"Jeremy..." Mike shook his head. "...it's good to see you."

Jeremy pressed his lips together. He didn't seem to know what to say. But after a few minutes, he said the only thing he could say.

"I'm so sorry, Mike."

"Hey," Mike took his shoulder. "It's going to be okay. I understand... you were just doing what you thought was right."

Jeremy nodded slightly. Then he looked over at the hand on his shoulder, and he blinked a few times. He gently grabbed his friend's wrist in his gloved hand and pulled up his sleeve. "...what are these?"

Mike felt his breath catch in his throat. He couldn't hide it any longer. He tugged his arm away and hid it within his sleeve again.

"I, uh... well. I didn't want to tell you before. I have depression and... it seems like a terrible thing to do this to myself... but it's how I... cope." Mike sighed and looked away. He didn't expect optimistic, ever hopeful Jeremy to understand.

But Jeremy proved him wrong. Jeremy made sure Mike was looking, and pulled up his own sleeve. Hundreds of little red lines greeted him, a sad lifeless art gallery of his own. Mike stared at him.

"I never told you about my parents." Jeremy sighed. "You know, I was the result of a night out gone wrong. My mom already had a kid with her husband, but there was no way I could be his, so he had a good reason to leave her. My mom hated me. When I was five she tried to drown me in a bathtub. I got PTSD from that. Can't look at water the same. My brother saved me by hitting her over the head with a glass bottle." Jeremy shrugged stiffly. "He pulled me out and, well, we ran away. He had some acquaintances in a gang. They managed to protect us from her crazy boyfriend until the police got them."

Mike wasn't sure what to say. It's not like he was Chica or anything. But at the same time, he was glad he was the one Jeremy confided in. He was someone who could understand.

"My parents were neglectful." Mike told him. "And my girlfriend left me not long ago. That's where most of these came from."

Jeremy nodded. "I get it. These recent ones represent the bullies in school. I was picked on all growing up and... I didn't take it well."

"Weird to think about, isn't it?" Mike thought aloud. "We're more alike than we thought."

Suddenly, a loud bump came from upstairs. Fritz jumped from where he was tampering with the Puppet and looked at Mike and Jeremy with big eyes.

"Please tell me that was you."

 _Crash!_

Jeremy cringed and Mike stood up. "You said someone broke in, Fritz. We didn't actually catch him, did we?"

Fritz frowned and shook his head. "I hate this job."

The Puppet quickly scuttled away from Fritz and toward Jeremy, hiding behind him and trying to make itself small.

"Mary, what's wrong?" Jeremy attempted to step away but the Puppet wouldn't let him move. Jeremy looked at Mike worriedly.

Mike bit his lip. "Stay here."

And he and Fritz grabbed their flashlights and rushed upstairs.


	28. Trouble

**First of all, I'd like to thank everyone so _so_ much for their support and patience. Thank you so much for making me feel loved and appreciated; it truly means the world to me. The updates should be coming quicker now; I'm having random bursts of inspiration and I'm very excited to get this finished! Best of luck to you all and enjoy the read!**

 **xXLoveThatAccentXx**

Fritz sincerely wished he had a gun. Unfortunately, as the role of 'night guard' was actually supposed to keep the robots _in_ and not the criminals _out_ , the firearms were prohibited. Still, as part of a gang, Fritz felt naked and insecure without it's security at his side.

Beside him, Mike gripped his flashlight like a sword. Apparently he was big on melee. But Fritz had never seen Mike in action, so he assumed the other guard was much less experienced than him. Fritz was in a gang. He could properly defend himself, but could Mike?

Fritz held out an arm to stop his partner at the top of the stairs, freezing to listen for the sound again. This time, however, it wasn't a shuffle. It was a voice.

" _W-Where are you t-taking me_?"

A child's voice.

Mike tensed up behind Fritz's arm. He turned blue eyes to Fritz's own, and Fritz nodded. Whatever this was, it was involved with a kidnapping.

This wasn't the first time Fritz dealt with something like this. About a year ago, his gang and he had been vandalizing an abandoned asylum when they heard sobbing in the next room over. Curious and nervous, they went to investigate, only to find a half starved and dehydrated preteen girl, bound and blindfolded. While the gang scooped up the girl and tore off her bindings, Fritz phoned the police. While he did, they were attacked by the girl's kidnapper; a middle-aged man with pretty sick intentions. The gang had managed to incapacitate the man and bind him. Living in such a large city, though, meant that if the Wild Childs were made famous they'd probably become targets for other gangs, so before the police arrived, the gang was long gone.

Fritz had his occasions. He only hoped that when the time came to confront the man, Mike would know what to do as well.

He nodded to his partner again, and Mike gripped his flashlight, pushing past Fritz's arm to get a look around. Fritz swallowed. He only hoped the two of them would be enough.

* * *

Mike pressed his back against the wall and turned his head to peek down the long hallway that led to the office. The hallway was dark and the lights were all off. Nothing stirred in the building. All was quiet.

Then, suddenly, a sharp sob.

" _Shh_."

Mike swallowed roughly and turned to Fritz, gesturing down the hall and at party room one, where he'd heard the sound. Fritz let out a quiet breath and ducked low, moving silently along the corridor, like a shadow. Mike followed, resisting the urge to flip on his flashlight and shed light on the problem.

The two guards managed to fall on either side of the door, so with a finger to his lips, Fritz mouthed at Mike to slowly look inside.

Withheld in the party room, to Mike's horror, wasn't just one kid. Along the benches of the tables, four children, six or seven years old each, slumped in sorrow and fear. In the middle of the table was an upright flashlight, and off to the side, tapping satisfactory on a phone, was a man clad in purple. He had a brown ponytail and black glasses, the light from his phone screen causing an unnerving glow on the lenses.

Mike turned to Fritz and held up nine, one, and one fingers in that order. Then he made a phone with his hand and held it up to his ear. ' _Should we call the police?_ '

Fritz pursed his lips, then made the tough decision to shake his head. They couldn't risk catching the kidnapper's attention; not when they had the benefit of surprise. Not yet, at least.

Then he perked up. He gestured wildly for Mike to wait there; to stay and keep an eye on the situation at hand. Mike stood confused and agitated as Fritz hurried off down the hall again, quiet as a mouse. _What the heck is he even doing?!_

Chilled to the bone, Mike turned back to the room, wishing with everything that he had that Freddy and Bonnie and Foxy were there with him; heck, even Golden Freddy sounded like a great alternative. Those bloodthirsty maniacs would know exactly what to do.

A little girl near the end of the group hiccuped, and the boy next to her quickly put a hand over her mouth, his eyes wide as if he feared what the kidnapper would do to them if they were heard. She buried her face in his shoulder and he held her close.

Mike suddenly remembered Chica, watching the boy console the younger girl. The action was so familiar. His heart ached for his new friends at the other location.

Without realizing it, Mike had loosened his grip on his flashlight. Too late did the freezing jolt of adrenaline bring him back to his senses, and the flashlight slipped out of his hand and clattered loudly onto the ground.

The kidnapper jerked up and Mike gasped involuntarily. He quickly pulled away from the door and backed down the hall, but it was too late. The kidnapper swung out of the door and shone his own flashlight straight onto Mike.

Mike panicked, but he couldn't run. He could only freeze as memories of him being apprehended as a delinquent and confronted by security froze him in place. Suddenly he was twelve years old again, staring down the disappointed gaze of a police officer as they told him they'd escort him back to boarding school.

The hesitation was long enough. Without stopping, the kidnapper charged Mike and managed to tackle him to the ground. Mike refused to let him win, however, feeling his rage return. Schoolyard fights and self-defense in alleyways had prepared him for this moment. Mike responded by blocking the kidnapper's attack and grabbing his head, butting him in the forehead _hard_. It hurt Mike, but it stunned the man long enough for him to roll them over and pin him to the ground. The man put up a fight. He kicked and struggled as Mike dug an elbow into his sternum.

"You..." The man grunted. "You stupid... useless... little..."

"Insults won't get you anywhere." Mike growled. "I've already been labelled everything."

The kids peeked out of the room, wide-eyed and terrified as they watched their kidnapper struggle violently under Mike. Mike looked over at them, diverting as much attention to them as he could without taking it away from the man in purple.

"Down the hall, to the stage room! Scream for 'Jeremy'. You understand?!" He ordered, and the kids nodded tearfully, making a mad dash across the corridor. Unfortunately, that's when the man found the strength to suddenly wrench a hand free and smack a fist straight across Mike's temple. Mike yelped, numbed, and faltered, and the man was on his feet in seconds, kicking Mike right on the neck.

Mike was breathless, trying to gasp but unable to. The man panted hoarsely and straightened up, rubbing his chest. He turned to follow the kids but Mike grabbed for his leg and tripped him rather ungracefully.

He tried to stand up and fight again, but this time, the kidnapper seemed keen to finish him off right then and there. He jumped in close and threw punch after punch onto the security guard below him. Mike just took it, too dazed to respond, hoping the kids were able to get to Jeremy safely.

The kidnapper whacked him once more and Mike blacked out for two whole seconds, waking up on the floor with the man leaning over him, snatching him into a headlock, ready to finish the job.

"Hey!"

The man froze instantaneously. Both duelers looked up to see Fritz standing at the end of the hallway, holding his flashlight just under his chin so the man could see him clearly. He looked so sure of himself just then. Mike vaguely wondered what he'd done.

"Next time you wanna snatch a bunch of kids while a robot's dysfunctional..." Fritz began again loudly, smirking. There were metallic footsteps scraping up behind him; footsteps that Mike recognized too well. "...Make extra sure you don't have a _mechanic_ on the site."


	29. Fight

**A vacation, work, and finals. I hate the busy season. I regret that I couldn't find time to update this during that time, but I'm back now.** **My deepest apologies for the wait, and thank you so much for your patience. You guys are seriously the best!**

 **/xXLoveThatAccentXx**

Fritz ran straight at the duelers, loud, metallic footsteps following close behind. Mike felt the man in purple pull away from him quickly, jumping to his feet and stumbling back. His footsteps receded down the hall.

Mike covered his head as the robots ran past him. The floor shook around his head by their weight.

As soon as the stampede passed, an arm roughly grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet.

"Don't worry, this is what they were made for." Fritz panted. "Come on! We need to find Jeremy!"

* * *

Toy Chica took a left hall and Toy Bonnie took a right. Their instincts corralled them into a sort of pack hunting, ready to work together to catch the intruder.

They couldn't see the man. He'd managed to hide. The Toys activated night vision and crept along the walls of the main halls searching.

Meanwhile, the Withereds scoured the party rooms, ensuring the intruder couldn't lay low. He was in hiding, but not for long.

"Left hall clear." Toy Chica's voice came through the audial connection they shared.

"Main hall clear." Toy Freddy added.

Withered Bonnie warbled into his speaker, his glitchy voice confirming that the man was not in the parts/service room.

Toy Bonnie narrowed his eyes, looking around the right hall carefully. His eyes glowed green as he scanned his surroundings. He lifted his mic to confirm the empty hallway.

And something smacked him over the head.

Toy Bonnie yelped and tumbled away, rolling back onto his feet. Ahead of him stood the man in purple, wielding an ax.

"Engaged!" Toy Bonnie shrieked, and barreled at the attacker, claws splayed. Balloon Boy and Withered Foxy should be nearby. All he needed to do was hold out until they arrived.

* * *

"Engaged!" Came Toy Bonnie's voice through the receiver, and Toy Freddy directed Balloon Boy and Withered Foxy in his direction. He called up Toy Chica and Mangle to surround the hall and block off the exits.

"Go for the head!" Toy Freddy called to Toy Bonnie. "Daze him!"

A loud cracking sound resonated through the receiver. A large static burst forth from it. Alarmed, Freddy contacted Balloon Boy. "BB! What's happening over there?"

It took a few seconds for the little robot to respond. "H-He's down."

Toy Chica's voice came, "Oh, come _on_!"

"E-Eng-aging!" Withered Foxy shouted.

"Careful, Foxy! We're coming to you!"

Toy Freddy ran toward the right hall, meeting up with Withered and Toy Chica halfway. They burst into the hall, and froze in shock.

Toy Bonnie, Balloon Boy, and Withered Foxy lay in pieces.

"Three down." Toy Freddy informed the rest of the pack. "Stay alert."

* * *

Jeremy ducked near the stage, the kidnapped children grouped around him in fear. Sirens pierced the air, and everyone had their ears covered. Fritz had one of Mike's arms over his shoulder and he helped his friend toward the others.

"Let's _go_!" Fritz cried to them, but Jeremy stood up to stop him anxiously.

"The restaurant's on lockdown! The doors won't open!" He yelled over the noise. "The robots activated the sirens; the police should be on their way!"

"So what do we do?!"

Jeremy looked grim. "We stay alive."

A loud crash came from the hallway, as well as a shrill, "Engaged!" Toy Chica, from the sound of it.

Jeremy gathered the kids. "Into the party room! Quick!"

As the kids, wailing, rushed inside, Mike pulled away from Fritz.

"Mike, what-"

"I need to get ahold of someone, I'll be right with you!"

Mike left them behind to run to the front doors, pulling out his phone. It was the only place with service.

He dialed.

It rang four times before she picked up.

"Mike? Is that you?" She seemed surprised. "What- Why are you calling now? Is something wrong? What are those... What are those sirens?"

"Chica?" Her name felt nice. Such a calming name in such a terrifying situation. It made him feel better instead of worse, like how Amy's name made him feel. "Chica, I'm at the sister location. There's been a... a slight problem. If... if I don't make it back..." Mike bit his lip.

"Mike? What are you talking about?!" Now she sounded anxious. "What's going on?!"

"I just wanna say... You're better than Amy." At last, this felt true. At last, Amy wasn't the most important person anymore. "I am so glad to have been able to get to know you. If I don't get out of here... Tell the boys bye for me."

Mike hung up as she tried to reply. He threw a glance over his shoulder and followed the others into the party room.

* * *

Toy Freddy growled in frustration, tapping his receiver quickly. "Come on, come _on_..."

No one was answering his calls. From what he could tell, he was the only member of the party left. If he wasn't careful, he too would be destroyed.

He scaled the hall, casting glares right and left. He'd decided to let the man come to him. He would, Freddy knew. He wouldn't settle for a nine out of ten, especially when Freddy was so vulnerable.

Footsteps.

Toy Freddy whirled around, swiping with his claws outstretched. Miss.

He turned around again, teeth bared. _Where is he?!_

 _Whack_!

Toy Freddy's head snapped back as something smacked him over the face. The blunt of the ax came back again and this time hit him tight on the neck. _Crack_!

Toy Freddy couldn't move his arms. He couldn't move his head. On the ground, he couldn't run. He tried to butt the man away but it didn't work. The man raised his ax. Toy Freddy braced himself.

And then, a quiet hiss.

The man and the robot faltered in surprise. There came another little swish, and the air around them dropped a few degrees in temperature.

If Toy Freddy had a heart, it would've stopped. He knew what this was. The man's wide eyes hinted that he knew too.

The kids had come back to play.


	30. Fall

**Oh my gosh it's here. It's finally here. This chapter was a nightmare to finish. Now that I've got it done, though? I'm expecting to finish this story much faster than I anticipated! You have no idea what an accomplishment this is for me ToT**

 **This and the next chapter were supposed to be one chapter, but it's going on for much longer than I thought it would, so the next one should be out relatively soon! I'm sorry to make you all wait. _It's been so long_ ~**

 **Anyway, you guys are amazing. Let's finish this.**

* * *

 _Swish._

 _"Hee hee hee!"_

Cold trickled down the man's spine. That voice... It shouldn't have been possible... There was no _possible_ way that _he_ could be here. The man whipped his head back and forth, on edge as the giggling continued within the shadows.

Toy Freddy was taking deep, mechanical breaths, shaky and apprehensive, as he waited for what came next. The man growled and, without wasting a second, smacked the blunt of the ax over the robot's head, breaking the plastic head inwards, killing it instantly. _Stupid machine..._ He thought, whirling immediately back to the shadows where the voices continued to whisper. He pointed the ax at the dark.

"Don't come any closer," He hissed. "I'm armed."

 _"Heh... Heh... Ha ha ha!"_ The voice's giggles climbed into a laugh. They were coming closer despite the man's warnings. The man stumbled back until he felt the wall bump against him. He was cornered. The laughter came closer... and that's when he saw it.

A robot stood in the hallway, but this one wasn't like the Toys. It was golden, it was limp, and its eyes were dull- one even missing. Wires sprayed out of open holes, and stains littered every patch of him. But it wasn't the robot in particular that stood out. It was the white cloud floating above it.

Wispy and white, but definitely shaped. Glowing and cold, but definitely not of this world. Unearthly and wild, but most definitely the one face the man had hoped never to see again.

"Hiya." The horrifying child grinned beneath his bloody mop of golden hair, and at that moment, baring baby teeth never looked so fearsome. "'Memember me?"

* * *

"Hey, shh, don't worry... The police should be here any second," Jeremy attempted to reassure the wailing kids. Some tried to quiet down, but for the rest it was just hopeless. Jeremy bit his lip.

Fritz heard him, and groaned in frustration. "Like they shouldn't've been here an _hour_ _ago_!"

"The siren was only rung about twenty minutes ago, Fritz! We're way out of town! They're coming as fast as they can but until then we have _got_ to keep calm!"

" _I_ am _calm, Jeremy_!" Fritz argued loudly, standing up too quickly and making his chair fall backward. The kids jumped in fear and the smaller night guard glared at him.

Mike was sitting at the exit, back pressed to the door. He didn't know what was going on out there but if he could help it, he was going to keep it out until the authorities could arrive.

 _Authorities..._

Suddenly, he remembered something.

"Hey, Jeremy..." Mike called uncertainly. He looked around and became more and more concerned when he realized the room was vacant of a certain clingy animatronic. "Whe-Where's Mary?"

Jeremy looked taken aback, as though he hadn't even noticed the robot's disappearance. Fritz, not fond of Mary to begin with, whirled around, still tense in stature, as though it might be sneaking up behind him. But it wasn't. It wasn't anywhere. The party room they'd all holed up in was quite small, so there weren't any places for it to really hide. Mary was just... gone.

"Oh no." Jeremy stood up, anxious. "Did it come in with us? Did anyone leave the door open for a few minutes? Who saw her last?"

Mike bit his lip and reached for the door handle. Fritz grabbed his shoulder before he could reach it.

"What are you _thinking_?! You can't go out there! There's a maniac on the loose, not to mention a horde of crazy robots!" He hissed, not raising his voice too loud to keep the kids from hearing.

Mike shook him off and directed a serious stare into Fritz's eyes. "You don't get it." His voice was low. "That robot trusted us. It _trusted_ us to keep it safe; to keep this _place_ safe. I can't just stand around and break that trust. It's not right."

"Why do you _care_ so much?! It's just a machine!"

Images of Freddy and Chica laughing with him at the pizzeria flashed through Mike's mind. He remembered Bonnie tilting the pinball machine with a concentrated look in his face and Foxy building a tower out of food. _It's just a machine,_ Fritz had said. _They're just machines._

Mike shook his head. "Not to me."

With that, he opened the door, and nobody stopped him as he slipped out.

* * *

The man's breathing was as heavy as the sins festering within him. He knew this boy. He was a pawn in his game of chess- a pawn he'd strategically placed on the front lines to keep the rest of his pieces protected; a pawn he'd sacrificed selfishly for the man's own good. But now it seems the boy had come back not as the pawn he'd been, but a queen with the highest advantage. The man had nowhere to run now.

Checkmate.

He lost.

The white mist in front of him was coming closer and closer, taking its time, giggling. The man clenched his teeth, glancing left and right for a way out. Doors began to screech open and slam close from all over the facility, like the strong winds of hurricanes blasting through the building. The fate he deserved was not going to be quick.

The ghost boy launched straight at him so suddenly, the man nearly didn't have enough time to leap out of the way. The moment he jumped to the side the ghost had slammed against the wall, crashing straight through to the other side. Debris blew out immediately, showering the man in small pieces of white drywall and dust.

The man wasted no time leaping to his feet and dashing down the hall, vaulting the golden robot that had fallen limp to the ground. Maybe there was still time after all. He had to get out of this wretched place. The ghost couldn't leave Freddy's; couldn't follow him. If he could get out of here, he'd win. The ghost would follow him and no doubt the others would be close behind.

Now this fight he'd gotten himself into was no longer of strength. It was wit.

A loud noise to the left grabbed his attention but rather than turning to look he immediately ducked. Rightly so, for once again a ghost has flown straight at him, barreling instead straight into the wall. Another hole opened up and this time a few large pieces rained on him, tearing up his clothes and the skin beneath it. He shook off the pain and stumbled to his feet, peering around for the ghost that apprehended him. This had not been the same one. That one had longer, wispy hair, much darker than the first one. The rest of the gang couldn't be far behind. He had to keep moving.

He turned into another hallway without checking what direction he was going, hoping to strike lucky. Unfortunately the fates were against him and he found himself at the main office; a dead end. He turned around immediately to correct his mistake, but several more white wisps were congregating at the end of the hall he'd just come from. They were cornering him.

 _The vents,_ He remembered. _The vents are open._

He jumped into the left one, crawling quickly through the open space until he emerged into a party room. He leapt to the doorframe, pressing his back to the wall as he peeked outside. The wisps of white flew past the open doorway without so much as a hesitation, clearly thinking that he was still inside the office. He slipped into the hall and rushed in the opposite direction.

It was so dark in here. Every light was off and the complex was void of windows. He couldn't see anything. He'd just have to go off of the map he remembered. He placed his fingertips on the wall and followed it, making note of where he was and where he was heading.

 _Get to the front door. Get to the front door._

He shivered, just now noticing that he was drenched in a cold sweat. He grit his teeth against the cold that just now began to sink in. Didn't these airhead night guards know what a heater was? Anyway, none of that would matter anymore as soon as he hightailed it out of here. He'd have to move again and get five kids from someplace else.

He swallowed. _The five kids_. That's who these wisps were. The five kids that he'd rounded up so many years ago... including one from his own family. Of course, he didn't even consider the consequences back then. All he needed was some fresh organs for a few friends downtown, and the money came flooding in; it was that simple. He'd found a few brats at Freddy's and kept them after dark. After he took what was his, he hid the leftovers in the suits. He got the money and he continued his life like normal. At first, everything continued like normal.

But then the robots started getting twitchy. And then they began to roam.

The man had an idea of what was going on. He quit the job as soon as he finished his shift that morning, and signed up immediately to the second restaurant. Tonight was supposed to be another batch of kids. Clearly this wasn't working out the way he'd expected.

Suddenly, a loud metal _clang_ rang throughout the restaurant, and the man crashed rather ungracefully to the ground. He couldn't see what tripped him. Something big. Something metal. He tried to squint at it but there was just no light.

No doubt the monsters had heard him. He had to find a place to hide - quick.

* * *

"Mary? _Mary_!"

He was whispering loudly rather than actually calling for the puppet as he shone his flashlight up and down the hallway, looking for any signs of life, but nevertheless, there was no way the thing wouldn't be able to hear him was it close by. He grit his teeth, and peeked into the party room closest to the one he'd just left.

There was a ringing in his ears that grew the longer he stayed out here. He figured it was just his paranoia, but he flinched anyway, rubbing his head when a headache came with it. That was weird. Where was that coming from?

He poked his head into the hallway again, about ready to bring the flashlight beam with it, but that's when he spotted them. Glowing wisps at the end of the hall.

His first instinct was to freeze, and rightly so. These hovering clouds weren't the result of some pipe leak. These things were... eerily haunting... as though they were from another world. They glowed and hummed and whistled softly when they moved, like a broken instrument. The wisps glided from the office to the left party room, and then, Mike realized with a jolt, headed straight toward his room.

He quickly fumbled for the button on his flashlight. The button made a loud _snap!_ and the beam clicked off. He ducked close to the floor and pressed his back against the wall by the door. He could barely contain his heavy breathing.

A very, very dim glow was cast from the doorway just next to him. Mike dared not look up, even when a strange, high voice began to mumble incoherently in the doorway less that two feet away from him. He held his breath, tense.

The mumbling continued...

And then it just stopped.

The glowing had disappeared. The room was cast in utter darkness, and utter silence once again. Mike waited a few minutes alone in the party room, holding his breath and trying not to freak out.

What on _earth_ was _that_?!

 _I'm hallucinating. I'm hallucinating. I knew it; I knew I was crazy. First Jeremy comes back from the dead and then I'm almost_ murdered _by some crazy dude in purple and now there are frikkin glow-y thingies floating around- I'm dreaming!_

Mike let out the breath he held slowly. Whatever it was, it was gone now. Dreaming or not, he had to get that puppet and get back to the party room. He clicked the flashlight on with another _snap_ , and waved the beam left and right through the room he was in. There was nothing here. Perhaps the room across the hall would give him better luck.

He turned to the doorway- and immediately jolted back again when two pale red eyes appeared two centimeters from his own. He fell in terror at the sight he was met with; tangled, matted hair stuck up in odd places, brown, and almost completely clotted with blood. Skin of glowing white; nearly transparent, with just about every vein visable beneath it, colored purple blue and green like bruises. A gaping mouth of small square teeth, so much like that of a child's-even down to where a few were missing- was wet with saliva and stained crimson. And its eyes... completely washed in pale red- almost pink, but not quite, like that of a white rabbit.

The being shrieked at Mike in pitches he never thought existed, hovering closer to him and twisting its face into something horrifying and anguished. Mike's eyes widened and he tried to push away, but all he could accomplish was getting trapped again against the side wall. The ghoul screeched from where it stood in the doorway, lunged at him, and Mike squeezed his eyes shut...!

Silence.

 _Am I dead?_

Mike cracked his eyes open again. He was still in the party room. He still held his flashlight. He was still up against the wall. And that ghoul was still in front of him. But this time, rather than furious and twisted, the kid looked down at him in confusion. Its hooked fingers relaxed and it let its hands drop to its sides.

" _Ntt hyim lukenfer..._ " Came its haunting voice- just a quiet mumble, barely audible. It blinked down at him almost in disappointment, and easily swept its gaze from him. Mike slowly allowed himself to breathe again. When he saw the ghoul turn away, he realized that it was uninterested in him now. As though he wasn't the one it'd been looking for.

Just before it left, Mike did something incredibly stupid.

"H-Hey!"

The ghoul froze rigid in its tracks. Mike swallowed thickly. It was listening. He continued. "Wh-Who are you? What are you here for?"

The ghoul didn't turn. It didn't twitch, it didn't sigh- nothing to indicate it'd heard him. But Mike knew it did. It heard him. Nevertheless, it spoke not a word in reply. It floated off into the hallway with nothing to say.

At first Mike was tempted to hightail it into the party room with Jeremy and Fritz and the kids because screw that whole occurrence right there. But he couldn't. There was something intriguing in the way that ghoul was wandering.

He picked himself up, and turned off his flashlight with a loud snap. He peeked in the hallway, and found the glow of the ghoul.

He followed it.


	31. PART SIX

" _The trust of the innocent is a liar's most useful tool."_

-Stephen King


End file.
